A Random Life
by sweetdreams-sunnymornings
Summary: Ranger and Stephanie, life, love- - - together and mostly on the job! A series of oneshots, featuring our favorite couple together, in action. Mercenary Ranger. Babe. probably okay for CCs too, tho no Joe. Rating changed just in case.
1. Chapter 1 Strawberry ClearCoat

**I forgot this! Standard fanfic disclaimers apply for this and all chapters/ stories here.**

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**A Random Life**

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**a/n: May 2012. I have a long fic almost finished and will be posting it soon. For now you all can read my non-mainstream fics on my blog, link in my profile, &/ OR enjoy this collection of one-shots that feature, as is SO often requested, Ranger and Stephanie, together. I think Ranger is always my Mercenary Ranger...and Stephanie is, of course, Stephanie! (No particular timeline order, but I will try to tell you where they belong in my timeline, if they do...).**

**Enjoy.**

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**a/n "clear coat"** is what the car mftrers call the clear lacquer that they seal the paint with, on new cars: "_Clear coat finishes (also referred to as two-stage paint systems) are simply a layer of clear resin applied over the top of colored resin."_

_*this takes place before Take a Chance_

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**One: Strawberry Clear Coat **

_[Stephanie]_

_**It is just too nice a day for this shit,**_ I thought vaguely. We should be in Point Pleasant at the beach not chasing some felon through the congested urban streets of Trenton, New Jersey.

"I see him!" yelled Lula. She pounded off ahead of me. We were on auto dealer row off Hamilton Avenue, an area with busy near-ghetto side streets and a main drag with row after row of shiny new vehicle lots, pennants waving in the June breeze. Honda. Subaru, Toyota, Kia, Jeep...You notice none of Ranger's megabucks imports though, right? This is where the blue-collar Burg gets its Buicks and Camrys.

"This way!" Lula pointed to _King Ballster's! VIP FREE OIL Change for LIFE ONLY $$$ 49.99 $$$ ! —_the big Chevy dealership on the corner. I saw our skip, Alan Moskowitz, weave through the new cars and duck into the open service bay. Moskowitz was a former telephone company helpline employee who finally slipped a few cogs in his murky little brain and turned to crime. He was arrested for stealing and maintaining fifteen different identities, using them to buy crap on eBay that he then sold at the flea market in Englishtown.

No one adequately explained to him that the way it works is the reverse: buy at the fleas, sell on eBay. Geez.

But where he really went wrong? Moskowitz started believing in his various identities. So he had a string of wives and girlfriends from here to Jersey City.

One of the "wives" checked up on him, caught onto his scams, and blew the whistle. Then she bonded him out with the reward money, go figure.

I followed Lula into the dimly lit concrete auto service building. She stopped short and I plowed into her.

"What the...?"

"Ooooh," cooed my partner. "Look at that!"

A red Corvette was being detailed front and center. The iridescent ruby red paint shimmered and glowed. I looked at the Vette then back at Lula's awestruck face.

"That there car is the color of strawberries," sighed Lula.

"What? It's just a Corvette."

"Me and Tank looooove strawberries! And I could use a new car, my baby Firebird is gettin' old."

"If we don't catch Moskowitz you won't be able to afford an '87 Toyota Corolla let alone a Corvette. Let's look..."

"Hey! Girlie! What are you doing in here?" An irate man strode out of the glassed-in office to our left. The balding guy wearing a too-small Chevrolet golf shirt hustled up to Lula. He told her, "You're not supposed to be in here."

Lula put a hand on a voluptuous hip and glared. "I was on the way to the bathroom. What's your excuse?"

"Lady..."

"Lula!" I interrupted, "There he is!" Moskowitz darted out from behind the tool trolley, hoping to slip by while Lula argued with the manager guy.

I was closer to the doors though and a little faster. I scampered sideways, threw my arms open and yelled, "Alan Moskowitz, you are in violation of your bond. I am a licensed bond enforcement agent. Please stop and ..."

_And what?_ "Uh,...allow me to handcuff you!"

Ranger said from behind me, "No need to give them details, babe."

Where did he come from?

"I was across the street, had to order new Explorers. I saw you run by."

Moskowitz wasn't about to allow us to cuff him. Instead he backed up under the hydraulic lift and waved a small handgun at us.

"You won't take me alive!"

"Calm down," I told him. "It's just identity theft. Don't get crazy."

"I'll shoot!"

"And, well, bigamy..." I just had to add.

"Babe. TMI."

"I'll shoot for sure!" yelled Moskowitz.

The little gun wavered between me and Lula. All the yelling had attracted the attention of the car mechanics and they were converging on the scene clutching wrenches and oily rags.

I told my skip, "Bigamy can be bargained down."

Lula chimed in, "Really, it's no biggie."

"I'll shoot myself first! My wives! Just, just, stay back!"

The mechanics all took a step forward.

"This has clusterfuck written all over it," growled Ranger. "And I can tell you're not wearing a vest." He shoved me behind him.

"Hey!" I yelled at him. He's bigger than me but he wasn't wearing a vest either. I tried to scramble in front of Ranger.

The movement caught Moskowitz's eye and he took one good look at Ranger, fired a wild shot into the ceiling, then ducked behind the red Vette.

"Learn how to shoot, you piece of shit!" yelled Lula. She hauled out her .357 magnum and fired away.

Everyone else ran for cover. Ranger shoved me down, underneath him for protection. I took a second to savor the moment.

(sigh).

He felt—wonderful. And smelled so nice...clean cotton, a little sweat, and his Bulgari. He was so big and so hard, and I felt so safe and so, uh, well...

(sigh).

"Babe."

Meanwhile: _Boom!_ Glass shattered. _Bam_**,** fiberglass exploded. Then the Corvette's antitheft alarm went off.

Moskowitz scrambled out from under the Vette and again tried to run out the other side.

I love watching Ranger. He rolled to his feet from his spot next to me on the dirty floor, and a second later he had Moskowitz by the scruff of the neck. Moskowitz's little feet kept running for a few beats, just like Roadrunner in the cartoons. Ranger gave him a shake, dropped him to his feet and cuffed him.

"All yours, babe."

"Mmmmm..." Okay, yes! I moaned, sue me.

"Your _skip_." He shoved Moskowitz towards me a few steps.

"Oooh! My car! I wanted that car! I _loved_ that car!" Lula was wailing.

We turned to look. Ranger examined the shattered remains of the Vette. "You killed that car, Lula."

"Oooh." She burst into tears.

Ranger looked at me. "What? it was only a Corvette."

_**the end, **but mtc [more to come**]**_


	2. Chapter 2 F& You, Batman!

**A Random Life**

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**Chapter Two**

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SPOILER VERY MILD SPOILER FOR BOOK 17!

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_**from Ten Big Ones,**_ _pg 292-3 pb:"The truth is, you're a line item in my budget...I have you listed under entertainment. This is a high-stress business and you're comic relief for my entire team...The truth is, I love you. In my own way."_

_**from Smokin' Seventeen:**_ _pg 185 hc "Working at Rangeman is a high stress job and you're one of our few sources of comic relief. You're a line item in my budget under entertainment."_

_***All is not perfect in the world of Plum, not even my world of Plum...when summer gets too hot, life goes bad.***_

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_**F%# you, Batman!**_

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_a hot week, mid-July. Trenton, NJ:_

**''Criminy! This air conditioner must have broken** when it "fell off the truck" and Vinnie bought it,'' grumbled Connie. She tore a _Wet One_ out of its white plastic tube and blotted her sweaty upper lip.

Vinnie yelled through his office door, ''It's 107 degrees! The AC would work just fine if you ladies would quit yer yakking and get your fat asses out of there and get to work!''

Connie gazed around listlessly. "I'd look for the mic but I am just too darn hot to care."

Trenton was suffering through its sixth day of 100 degree plus July weather. We all sat in the newly rebuilt Bonds office, exhausted. Miserable, melting.

Connie looked over at me. "Still have some files open, Steph. We need to bring in some of these people. Sternburg for one, he's worth ten grand."

Daniel Sternburg was a grifter and a thief. And now he was FTA, he'd failed to appear in court. And he was mine; I'd get a cut of the money he owed when I brought him in. My share would be ten percent. And I definitely needed the money. I looked over at Lula who was deep in the latest issue of _Lucky_ magazine.

"They showin' winter clothes! How is that possible, they on drugs or what?" She held up a page showing a woman in leather mini, fur boots, wool sweater, _puffer parka!—_eeew.

"Want to ride along, Lu? I could use some backup."

Lula shook her head of neon orange braids."Nope, no way. Day like this I just wanna head home and lay in a cool bath, pretend that cheapo wine I'm sipping is finest ice-cold champagne.''

Connie chimed in, "I like to envision myself naked in a cool mountain lake, maybe with a waterfall and icy breezes."

Not touching either line. "Last chance,'' I told Lula. ''I'll throw in an Italian ice from Giovicinni's ...?"

"Nope, no way. It's almost quittin' time. I'm heading home!''

I shrugged. "Okay be that way."

''No problem,'' murmured Lula. We watched Lula gather up her big sequined straw bag and sashay out the door.

After a couple moments of silence, Connie said, "Maybe Ranger?"

"I'm having a vacation from Ranger,'' I told her.

"Too bad."

I stuffed my open files into my big black Coach bag—_and why the heck don't I get a summer purse? _I wondered. I could totally rock a summer straw and sequined purse like Lula's! (Okay, maybe not...) —and I headed home to change. Sternburg is a ladies' man, a con artist, a grifter who works at the Rolling Valley Links Country Club out in Hamilton Township. I'd shower and cool off, change into something more presentable and head back out.

At my place the elevator was out, of course. I trudged up the stairs, fantasizing about putting on my tiniest bikini and having a cold beer on my fire escape. Problem is, I was not so sure I was presentable in a bikini at the moment. I'm thirty now and things maybe sag a fraction? _Gravity's a bitch_, I thought, adding a little prayer that I'd be dead before my ass looked like my Grandma Mazur's, all sag and flab and wrinkles.

Let's not even think about the rest of my body, her body!

Thirty minutes later I was cooler and fresher, dressed in a flouncy cotton sundress with a lacy crocheted bodice, spaghetti straps and gauzy tiered skirt. The dress was new and the tag said _hand crocheted in Indonesia._ I touched the dainty lace with a gentle finger. Imagine making lace like this! I pictured a little lady with gnarled fingers, holding a metal crochet hook, laboring for pennies a day, going blind. _Hmmm, not so nice a vision._ I shook that off, grabbed my files and hit the road.

I was going after Sternburg alone, no back up. Upstairs I had briefly considered calling Ranger but the memory of our last encounter, just a few days ago, still left a bad taste in my mouth, a bad feeling in my heart.

He offered me a car, I demurred.

He said, "Why not? I loan you cars all the time."

"Yes but they get destroyed all the time too. I don't know how you can afford me...''

He told me: "Working at Rangeman is a high stress job and you're one of our few sources of comic relief. You're a line item in my budget under _entertainment._"

I stared at him—such a beautiful man. But maybe he shouldn't be allowed to talk, maybe it was better when he just said _Babe._ So I told him, ''We've had this conversation before.''

?

''You forgot the part about bleeding money for me."

''That too, babe. No price, remember.''

If I carried a gun I might have shot him; as it was I just turned and walked out of the Rangeman garage, ducking under the gate. I walked halfway home in silence, refusing to cry. At the corner of Grove and Spracter Avenue, Hal pulled up in a black Explorer. "Ranger said to drive you home."

It was 105 degrees in the shade, the first day of this heat wave. The heat index was hitting 112! The ozone levels were at _poison gas_.

I was emotionally hurt but not suicidal; I got in.

When we pulled into my lot and Hal stopped I turned at looked at his sweet stegosaurus face. I asked him, ''Do you guys all laugh at me, Hal? I'm a joke? No one respects me?"

He turned red. ''Ms Plum...''

''Nevermind.''

The next morning the Jeep I refused at Rangeman was in the lot, keys in the cup holder. And it was the car I was driving now. Ranger and I aren't speaking, I don't think. I was humiliated...I'm sad, I'm confused, I'm broke. I'm driving a Rangeman vehicle. And I am going to get this skip without calling Ranger.

I pulled up at the gate of the country club, showed my eBay fake badge. The guard looked at my pissed off face and let me in.

Part of being a successful BEA is having the balls to breeze in anywhere, act like you belong. Own the stage, so to speak. It's something Ranger excels at, so I channeled my inner Ranger and breezed through the club looking for the tennis courts and my target.

Sternburg showed up before I expected him. I was halfway down the pool deck on my way to the tennis pavilion when my man appeared, client in tow. She was too thin, too tan, too old for her teeny tennis dress; he was suave, tanned, and handsome.

''Mr. Sternburg? Daniel Sternburg? I'm a bond enforcement agent and...''

"I say! What? Surely you are mistaken, doll. " Fake-o British accent in full bloom, cheeks going red.

I faced him down, he sidled away. He turned to flee, shoving potted palms into my path as he ran past the pool. I almost had him but then...skinny hands shoved me hard from behind. I had forgotten the enthralled client, TooRich. She yelled, ''You leave my tennis pro alone, missy! Who the hell do you think you are! I bet you're not even a member here!" She shoved me again—hard—and I flew off the patio into the deep end of the pool.

Cool blue water closed over my head. _Aaaah._ Relief from the heat. Finally. I came up sputtering a bit and a strong hand reached down to me. I grabbed hold and was pulled from the pool. I stood dripping on the deck, swiped my hair out of my eyes and looked at my rescuer. I was saying, "Thank y—.' Oh. Not the lifeguard...

Ranger. In classic golf attire.

He was almost smiling at me as if we hadn't had words the other day and he was blatantly enjoying my now transparent dress. ''Babe.''

I looked beyond him, no sign of Sternburg. "Shit, he got away."

''A skip?'' He tucked a strand of wet hair behind my ear, his fingers gentle.

''Yeah.''

"You're here alone?" He looked beyond me for a moment as if he was expecting Lula to appear.

"Yes. Alone."

''Why didn't you call me?''

I stared at him. ''Because I am not a line item. I'm not a joke. Or a clown.''

''No problem, babe. I love you anyway.''

I shoved him into the pool. And I went home.

_**the end**_

a/n: The first time Ranger says that ''line item'' nonsense (Ten Big Ones), I was okay with it. I thought it was kinda cute, he's a little flustered, even Ranger puts his foot in his mouth now and then. I thought, Well he's a little nervous, a little thrown off, Steph was _in his bed!_ In his secret apartment! I thought his ineptness was almost charming, like he was being a normal guy.[I'm such a dummy.]

The second time he says that BS, in 17: well, just plain rude. No excuses. And very _not cute._

Your thoughts?


	3. Chapter 3 Your Satisfaction is

_**A Random Life**_

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a/n: early in R & S's partnership, like...Book Six?

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_**Three ~ Your Satisfaction is Job One**_

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_Ranger __**A recently proposed**_ _memo to Rangeman clients: "Your Satisfaction is Job One". Some marketing guru's idea of cleaning up my usual line, " You pay in advance, in cash—no problem." I usually add an intimidating stare...and yeah, they pay. So I fired the marketing guy. Not that that has anything at all to do with tonight's job._

_Jersey City NJ, 2100 hours_

**I sat in the stinking alley **behind the JerseyPussycat Lounge, cuffed to Stephanie and my target, cold rainwater seeping into the ass of my jeans. Tonight's job was not going particularly well, obviously, although Stephanie, always the perfect decoy, had sussed out the target like the pro she is. Now she sat to my left, in her little working girl's suit, looking as miserable as I felt. On my right, the man we were picking up for the FBI was fuming and cursing under his breath. We were all wearing handcuffs and the FBI had, in their infinite wisdom, also used twist ties to link us together.

If we went anywhere, we'd have to go in a conga line. Or so they thought.

By _working girl_, I don't mean Steph was dressed like a hooker; no, the target was a sophisticated man who'd be suspicious of a call girl luring him out to this alley. Steph was dressed in her little black suit with the very short skirt and no blouse. If my ass in jeans was uncomfortable, her ass in the short skirt must have felt hideous.

Now she turned her head and stared at me. "Remind me why I am sitting here in a puddle of piss, _honey_."

We were pretending to be a couple tonight.

"I am going with it just being rainwater, _sweetheart_." I answered her, slurring my words to keep my cover as a drunken asshole husband.

She shifted and said, "Huh." But she was thinking, _He doesn't pay me enough to put up with this kind of shit!_ Don't need ESP to understand that, I could read her eyes.

... ... ...

_a week earlier, Rangeman offices on Haywood Street, Trenton NJ._

**I pressed my intercom and said**, "Babe, my office."

"What about your office, Ranger?"

Stephanie is trying to improve my phone/ intercom manners again. I sighed. "Can I see you in my office, Ms Plum?"

Giggle. "Please?"

"Now."

I took my hand of the little intercom device, sat back, waited. In a few beats she appeared in my doorway. "Knock, knock."

"I save _please_ for emergencies, babe."

"A girl can only try." She sat down across from me and looked attentive.

"We have a job."

"We do? Good?"

I ignored that. "I've contracted a job for the FBI out of north Jersey, to help the locate and arrest this man." I showed her a poor quality surveillance photo. "We think he is working with the Jersey City OC families, as a weapons supplier."

"Organized Crime? Like the Sopranos?"

If I could go shoot HBO for that stupid series I'd do it in a heartbeat. I continued, "We believe the man is living in Patterson, pretending to be a regular guy, soccer dad, kids studying for SATs, family guy." I passed her another photo of a balding guy in khakis and golf shirt at a soccer game.

Steph compared the two pix and nodded. "Maybe."

"That's the problem, we aren't sure. But this guy—James Sullivan—stops every Friday at a so-called gentlemen's lounge near Grove Street. He comes out of the PATH train station, on his way home from his day job in Manhattan, and he watches the strippers and has a few drinks before he gets his car from the commuter lot and drives home."

"And you need me to decoy him?"

"You'll be wired with digital CCTV, very miniature. It will fit in your bra. You'll engage his attention and if we—myself and the agents on the case—feel he is the same man, I'll come into the bar, find you, make a scene, punch the guy out and so on. JCPD will come in and arrest both of us, you'll be whisked away by whoever I have behind the bar."

"Why not just get him outside like we usually do?"

"The feebs"—FBI—"want me to preserve my cover." I couldn't, well, _wouldn't_, explain the complexities of my own OC ties—genetic only!—to Stephanie, at least not right then.

She thought about the scenario. "I don't see the point."

"The pencil pushers at FBI headquarters want it that way."

"Well, here's to the pencil pushers. May they all get lead poisoning," she said sarcastically.

She was right but..."It's the job, take it or leave it." I told her the salary for the night's work.

Her eyes widened. She said, "Okay. You're the boss."

I stared at her. I didn't want to be the boss. I want to be—what? Her freakin' boyfriend? Her lover, um—husband? Stephanie makes me crazy. I love her anyway...or maybe because?

... ... ...

**The following Friday, meaning earlier tonight**, I picked Stephanie up at her apartment at 4 PM. I was on time, she was, of course, late. When I walked into her place, she sensed my presence and her voice emerged from the open bathroom door.

"Be right there!"

Ten minutes later, Steph appeared in the skirted business suit we'd decided on for the job. The suit was expensive and fitted well,but the neckline hinted of smoothly perfumed white skin and just a bit of cleavage. The skirt was a smidge tight and short, her black FMPs ridiculously high. She looked like every businessman's wet dream of the dominating female boss.

I must have examined her for too long because Steph's cheeks colored a little.

I said, "Ready, babe?"

"Do I look okay?"

"Yeah. Fine." I kept it short on purpose. I didn't want to get too involved. Or we'd end up in her bedroom instead of at the Jersey Pussycat Bar and Grill.

Defensively she told me, "It's not easy, Ranger. You don't know how hard it is being a woman looking the way I do."

"You don't know how hard it is being a man looking at a woman looking the way you do," I admitted. I refrained from adjusting my buttcrack jeans (_my_ undercover disguise) and grinned at her.

Steph stared at me. "_Roger Rabbit_? Who knew Ranger Manoso would know lines from..." She giggled.

"Babe. We gotta get going."

"Almost ready." She twirled in front of the mirror on her foyer wall. She seemed satisfied. "I'm not bad..."

_Not bad_ was putting it mildly. I took another mental step back and held up the tiny camera we'd attach to the front clip of her pushup Wonderbra. (How did I know the brand? Rangeman footed the bill for her entire outfit, of course. It was a uniform of sorts, tax deductible. I always paid for her clothes when she had to wear something specific for a job). I said, "Let's get you wired and try this camera out."

I knew how to wire her and attach everything. I always made sure I was fully trained. Normally Hector or Vince might do the pre-job wiring, on a male agent. But no way was anyone but me gonna touch Stephanie like this.

I focused on my task, my fingers gently sliding between lavender lace and sweet breast and and...and...and, uh...

"Ranger? Is there a problem?" Her voice quivered a bit.

I jerked to attention and took my knuckles off her breast. "No, you're good to go."

... ... ...

_**Jersey City**_

**At the Jersey Pussycat Lounge**, Steph made a _gag-me_ gesture when she saw the name. I told her, "I think it's ironic, the name I mean."

"God, I hope so," she answered and off she went to find he mark.

All went as planned, at least in the beginning. You know the deal: the wobble, the catch, the frustrated cubicle workers sharing a moment and a beer with tequila chasers...

Stephanie told James Sullivan, possibly aka Mario Donatelli,mob gunrunner and all around scumbag, that she was a bank vice president, "Marketing of course. Because I, like, have boobs?"

Yes, he looked. "Boobs?"

"You must know about the glass ceiling for women, the pink ceiling? Women can make it to VP positions but only in advertising or HR."

Sullivan licked his lips, "HR?"

"Human resources? But enough about me and my, well, _issues_. What do _you _do? And what brings you here on a rainy Friday night?" She dumped her shot of tequila [tea, poured by Manny tending bar tonight] down her throat, and smiled.

How Steph can make a phrase _like rainy Friday night_ sound like a porn soundtrack is beyond me. It is so far from her normal Jersey girl-Burg self it seems she's suddenly a stranger to me, or an alien.

Sullivan drank too. He told her, eyes still below her face, "It's not my job, it's my home life that gets to me. My wife just doesn't understand what I go through every day. And my kids! Gimme, gimme, gimme."

And so on.

"Facial recognition survey says 100% definite that he is Donatelli. You can go in, sir." A disembodied FBI agent spoke in my ear bud.

"Ten four." Good thing their computer worked fast because Sullivan/ Donatelli's hand was creeping waaaay up Steph's thigh and his other hand was unsubtly playing with her fingers, atop the bar.

"Jenni!" I stomped across the busy lounge, shoving my way up to the bar. "Jennifer! What the fuck!" I yelled.

"Uh oh, my husband," Steph said, also in my ear as well as to Donatelli.

I grabbed her and feigned a slap."The kids need you at home, you slut!" I screamed.

Donatelli, what a hero, scooted away, made no attempt to help Stephanie. Instead he stood up and threw a couple twenties on the bar. I pushed Steph aside and grabbed him before he got away. "The fuck you think you're doing, hitting on my wife!" I punched him gently in the face. and he backed up. So I grabbed him and beat on him a little, mostly shoves and cursing. Finally the tequila and his temper got the better of his good sense and he fought back.

It was vaguely absurd because even as I tried not to really hurt him, I could tell he was trying not to hurt me either, not really. He wanted "low profile", he just wanted to disengage. But finally he pulled his gun and I took him down, across a couple tables, rolling on the smelly, beer-sticky floor.

Sirens, cops, fast onto the scene. All planned, all choreographed, except somehow, Stephanie decided to come to my defense when Donatelli pulled the gun. She was behind him, hitting him with her big Coach purse (ouch!) when the cops arrived.

And we all were cuffed and dragged out to this alley. To sit, for what seemed like hours, in the rain, in a reeking puddle of piss.

I knew it was piss, Stephanie wasn't dumb, but I tried to calm her, told her it was just rainwater.

"You just hope it's rain, honey!" Stephanie told me. "You idiot! I work all week while you stay home and collect disability. And you are so fucking lazy you can't watch the kids for an extra hour?"

I shrugged.

''So now I am sitting here in a puddle of piss! What the hell is wrong with you, you stupid bastard?"

Donatelli looked at me with sympathy in his eyes. Steph burst into tears.

And an FBI agent in a trademark blue FBI windbreaker came over, read Donatelli his rights, and led him away. "Hey! What about me?" yelled Stephanie, her face now dirty and tear streaked. I wasn't sure if she was still acting but while everyone was watching Donatelli's arrest, I slipped my hands free of the cuffs and pulled her close, kissed her drenched curly hair, "You smell good, babe," I stupidly murmured.

"Huh?"

"Here, let me just..." I turned her and undid her cuffs too.

She narrowed her big blue eyes at me. "You took your own cuffs off?''

"It's a godgiven talent, babe."

" You mean you could've taken your hands out of the cuffs at any time?"

" No, not at any time, only when it was funny."

"I'm _not_ laughing!" And she burst into tears again.

I stood up, pulled her up beside me, and wrapped her in my arms. She pulled back from my hug and we watched the FBI's black Suburban pull away with Donatelli inside.

I whispered in her ear, "Mission accomplished, babe. Macy's shoe sale, tomorrow. Spring extravaganza, I hear.''

"So—it's just a job?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. I forgive you."

_It's just a job. Satisfaction guaranteed..._

_**the end, series tbc**_

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_**Thanks for reviewing!**_


	4. Chapter 4 A Stitch in Time

**A Random Life**

**.**

Ranger and Steph, married/ work partners.

**4 - A Stitch in Time**

**.**

_Ranger_

"**Hostage situation…..Victoria's Secret, at the mall,"** the fed whispered into his lapel mike.

He listened for a second then he added, "Fuck no! No joke, you need to call out HRT." The fed's name was Corey Braun and he was an okay guy. For a fed. I started to shake my head no, but then stopped. Antonio was far far away, out of country, my Rangeman crew were home in Trenton, and SWAT or HRT (Hostage Rescue Team) might be all I'd have to help me rescue Stephanie.

Poor Steph, this time it truly wasn't her fault. We—Rangeman—had been called in by the Virginia FBI to execute multiple warrants on one Bethany Marie Klandensky, who was FTA in six states and now had a federal warrant out for her for kidnapping and human trafficking across state lines. Klandensky's specialty was stealing babies and selling them to desperate, childless couples who were fed up with the overseas adoption red tape and corruption. Klandenksy had passed herself off as a legit adoption bureau administrator, a go-between for those couples and underage mothers. The reality was, Klandensky grabbed the infants wherever, whenever she could.

Rangeman took the large contract, including the offered fee or bounty for the federal warrant and we quickly found the woman in rural Virginia, where she lived with her low-life cracker boyfriend under an assumed name. I took Steph along for the pick-up because legally it is necessary to have a woman BEA there when a female offender is brought in.

_What was I thinking?_

On Rangeman's intell, the feds were watching Klandenksy at her secluded home in the countryside of northern Virginia. When I got there late last night I had a bad feeling and said, "Let's pick her up somewhere more public." I hate these pitch dark woodsy places—booby traps? pissed-off boyfriend in the bushes? Who the fuck knows. Even I can't totally see this stuff in the dark and besides it was pouring rain. "Let's put a tracker on her car and wait til she goes to the grocery store or something. Or til it stops raining and is daylight." Everyone liked that idea and we departed for the local motel to wait.

By noon the next day Klandensky was at the mall, spending her hard-earned child slavery dollars. The mall looked oddly familiar to me and Steph looked around with similar interest. Then we both said, "Scrog." We were at Potomac Mills Mall where we'd traced Scrog that day when Julie was kidnapped.

And like that day, we trailed casually through the throngs of shoppers. Recession, what recession? The big Wal-Mart was booming and Nordstrom, on the high-end side, looked busy too. I wore jeans and a leather jacket, baseball cap pulled down low, kept my face towards Steph like I was the ardent boyfriend and hoped for the best. Sometimes I draw more female interest than I like, especially in malls full of desperate housewives and horny teenyboppers.

I was actually wishing we had brought Zoe so I could be pushing her stroller—when things went fubar.

In my ear I heard a fed say, "Target leaving The Gap, heading for the underwear place, whaddaya call it, Vanna's Secrets?"

Steph clutched my arm and whispered, "Over by Monaco, see her? In the red turtleneck and jeans?"

I turned and casually got the woman in my sights. We picked up our pace and came up behind her about 15 feet from the pink door of Victoria's Secret. I was so focused on the mark that I didn't see or sense the redneck boyfriend who blasted out of Sharper Image and tried to tackle me from the left. I spun and caught the attack head-on, landed a sharp enough head kick to launch the asshole into the wall. Unfortunately it wasn't a _wall _wall, it was a plate-glass store window. More unfortunately, as I finished my maneuver, the asshole grabbed my jacket and pulled me along with him.

_Crash. _The window exploded under the impact of our bodies.

We landed in a hail of shattered glass, me on top, the boyfriend gasping because the momentum had landed all my weight into his now-helpless body. I rolled him over and cuffed him, only then realizing that my right hand was bleeding heavily. It must have gone through the window first.

Shit.

Helping hands arrived and I was pulled out of the window display by my fed backup team while the local cops secured my assailant. I shook the shards of glass off my clothes and hair, grabbed a piece of cloth out of the window display—shook the glass off _it_—and wrapped my hand tight.

I said to Braun, the fed, "Do I have glass on my face?" and then, "Where's Stephanie?" because if anyone was gonna brush my face clean it better be her.

The feds all looked at me, looked around. Needless to say, No Stephanie.

A woman clutching a Bloomie's bag said, "That woman in the red sweater! She grabbed the girl with the curly hair and forced her into that shop! Into Victoria's Secret. I think that woman in red had a gun! Or—_something_."

"No, it was a cell phone." Bystander 2 chiming in.

"No, no, it was her wallet, she was looking for the coupon for the sale! She and the other woman bumped into me!" Gawker 3.

"No it was a gun!" insisted woman number one.

"Shut up!" I said. Silence. _Yes!_ My no-shit, giving-orders voice was still working even though inside I was a mass of quivering jello. I snarled, "Get these people out of here." and the mall security people started moving everyone back.

Woman number one took a few steps away but then she turned back and said quietly, "Mister. It was a gun." Her eyes dropped, "And you're bleeding on the floor. A whole lot." She disappeared.

Braun and I looked down. He said, "Glass cuts are the worst, man. You need stitches in that hand. The EMTs will be here any second."

I was busy searching the shop through the broken window, looking for Steph and didn't bother to respond.

The fed said, "Hey! Are you listening, Manoso?"

I said, "I'm going in, cover me. Do you have people on the back?"

"Yeah. But—you think you're going in like that? Think you can protect your partner with your gun in the wrong hand?"

I had introduced Steph as my partner, not my wife. _Because—well, she is. My partner, I mean. On so many levels._

I reached for my left-hand gun and told Braun, "I don't have a wrong hand. Cover me."

He hesitated and I gave him my best intimidation glare. _No one_ questions my orders, no one. And no one asks me if I can do the job, no one, not ever. He went a little pale even for a white guy and did a brief nod. I double-checked, yeah, the two men behind him were already in place.

Time was rushing by. The action had lasted maybe 90 seconds total, but it felt like hours, like a lifetime since I glanced around and realized Steph was gone. I said, "Let's do it. On my count…." With this crew I'd have to count out loud, so I said, "4, 3, 2, go, go go." We rolled in the front door, one high, one low. Left guy, right guy. I was first, went low, rolled to my feet in a crouch, went through the door into the body products and cashiers desks area.

Bethany Klandensky had Steph by the hair, gun at Steph's head. Steph's eyes were huge and locked on mine.

"Stop or I'll shoot her! Stop, stop!"

I ignored Klandensky's screams and jerked my head, praying Steph had learned a little ESP. Osmosis, maybe?

Anyway it worked and Steph dropped like a sack of cement and rolled back into Klandensky's legs. It threw Klandensky off balance enough that her reflexive gunshot went wild and I simultaneously took her out with a shot between the eyes, to a chorus of "Federal agents, federal agents! Freeze, freeze."

And then silence.

I ran to Steph with my gun stilled trained on Klandensky. I got to Steph, kneeled down and lifted her off the floor, into my arms. She looked up at me and said very calmly, "I don't think she was going to freeze, Ranger."

"No."

"You shot her."

"Yes." _And I'd do it again and again, whatever it took. No price, no debts_. "Let's get you out of here, the EMTs should be here soon."

"I'm fine, Ranger. She just pulled my hair, is it a mess?"

"No, you're beautiful, babe." _You're alive._

Narrowed eyes. "Yeah but my hair?"

"Um…." I was worried about shock, Steph's eyes were huge and dilated and her face, when I kissed her felt cold and clammy.

"Ranger?"

"Yeah."

"You have a pair of pink underpants on your hand." She giggled. "And your hand is bleeding a lot." More giggles, then a sob.

"Babe." I picked her up.

She let me lift her but tensed in my arms, then squirmed. "Ranger! Omigod, they're having a _sale!_ 40 percent off! And, looook—two-fers with a coupon, buy one thong, get one free. Wow! Maybe I could just…."

I said, "Babe," again and carried her out to the paramedics, trailing blood splatter behind me.

**the end, HEA of course….more stories whenever.**

**Thank you for reviewing!**

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**Note: **There's a couple of new Anthony one-shots on my blog...posted the other night [5/25/12?]. And some awesome Anthony pics. If you haven't seen them yet. Link is in my profile here.


	5. Chapter 5 No Free Rides

**A Random Life**

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Historical info: Keansburg Amusement Park actually exists; youmight want to google it...the oldtime rides are amazing. Here's what their website says, condensed for ff by me: "Although Keansburg Amusement Park is not an actual Boardwalk park, it is regarded locally as a boardwalk town /park, as it is one of America's oldest shore side amusement parks that houses many **vintage rides that date back to the early 1920's.** Although the amusement area fairway is now asphalt, it truly has that famous NJ Boardwalk feel unmatched by any other NJ Seaside town.''

a/n Early in Stephanie and Ranger's relationship...book four?, though it references Book Nine and Seventeen. [my Plum world has no order in realtionship to the books]. And also mentions the sene in my story The Closet.

... ... ...

**5 - No Free Rides**

**.**

_Stephanie_

**Today's job has **_**Fisher Cat/ Cone brothers**_ _written all over it,_ I thought frantically. My feet pounded down the midway of the historic Kean's Amusement Park, a homicidal maniac on my heels.

The similarity to the youngest Cone kid struck me as soon as I laid eyes on Ranger's FTA. I took one look and thought, _Oh yeah, Bart's baby brother._ I know I should remember his first name, I shot and killed him, but right now my brain is in horrified flight mode and I am drawing a blank.

The current demented killer, Stark Potts, was almost within striking distance. I glanced back and the wrench he was wielding swept past my ear, missed me by just inches. I turned the corner of the fairgrounds boardwalk, into the vintage rides area. I kicked off my FMPs. And I ran like hell.

This park was a major family attraction, built in 1904. I dimly recalled its history from a recent visit with Albert, Valerie and the kids. It had wonderful old rides, including trains shaped like caterpillars, whirling teacups and airplane kiddy rides that date from the 1920s. But it also has very up to the minute, modern pseudo-Disney World rides and attractions—robotic pirates, dancing dolls, vomit inducing rollercoasters—all of which were currently designed and maintained by Mr. Potts, the Cone boys' lookalike.

Potts had been arrested in downtown Trenton a few weeks ago; charges were lewd behavior and sexual misconduct. Seems Potts gets his jollies by grabbing ass in the midweek crowds around the state and city buildings downtown Trenton. All those girls on their lunch breaks in their cute spring dresses and Potts just could not resist, I guess. Well, one of them clouted him with her twenty pound Jersey girl purse, the cops came, the rest is history. Potts posted bail, guaranteed by Vincent Plum Bail Bonds. And of course he didn't show up in court the following week.

For some reason, maybe because it was a sexual assault thing?—Connie gave the file to Ranger who promptly passed the buck to me.

He asked me to come into his office. He handed me the Potts file, said, ''Babe, this guy's a creep. As soon as his secretary found out about his arrest, she filed her own grievances and walked off the job.''

''What does that have to do with me?"

"You have an appointment tomorrow for a job interview, babe. Wear a short skirt and really high heels."

"And then what!"

"You'll be wearing a wire. When you have him focused on your, uh, assets, we'll come in and take him down. I want to keep it low key, lotta kids in that park.''

"No! No way! Why should this guy get to grope me?"

"You owe me."

"Huh?" Suddenly Ranger was gonna hand me a tab for all those cars? Geez.

"Remember the Nick Alpha break-in?"

Not the cars. _Whew!_

I said, "What about the closet?"

Ranger gave me the dead-eyed stare. "That wasn't payback."

"Good to know," I stammered. I could feel the heat in my face. And...you know...

"So? You in?"

''Huh?"

''Stephanie. The Potts job?"

"Oh okay," I reluctantly agreed. And giggled. _Potts job! He-he-he..._

... ... ...

**An hour ago Ranger parked the Turbo in the VIP lot** at the amusement park. And he amused _himself_ by setting up my wire. I was wearing a little skirt suit, navy with gold braid trim on the lapels and cuffs—vintage, circa _Dallas._ 1980s? And a now undone white cotton blouse. A few breathless minutes later he rebuttoned my blouse and kissed my cheek. "Rock 'n roll, Steph.''

_Yeah, yeah._

The FTA's office was in the bowels of the mechanicals area of the old park. I trudged along the concrete back corridors. I could hear distant music, see the clockwork mechanism of my target's design talent. Robotic arms whirled and swayed, smoothly oiled, no doubt adding verisimilitude to some freaky ride or game.

I knocked on the open office door marked S. Potts. _Maybe you'd be cranky too, with a name like __Stark Potts__?_ Potts was slight and geeky, about my height. At first he seemed pleasant, a tinge of soft Virginia drawl coming through as he asked me a few questions and leafed through my [fake] résumé.

Potts looked up. Stared at me. His right hand opened his desk drawer, grasped something I couldn't see.

"This says your name is Dolores Reyes?"

"It does? I mean, yes, it does," I answered.

"You look a lot like that bounty hunter, that Stephanie Plum."

"Uh, no...I—?"

Potts stood and I saw the huge wrench on his hand. Geez. I expected to get molested, not beaten to a pulp. I jumped up.

"In fact I am sure you're that Plum woman!" And he came around the desk after me, ten pound wrench held high.

I turned tail and ran. Past the singing dolls, past the backset of the _Pirates of Jersey_, past the diesel motors that ran the modern rollercoasters. I ducked into a side tunnel, and came out on the midway. ''Where the hell are you guys,'' I yelled, knowing my mic was being monitored.

''We're almost there, Ms Plum," said Hal's voice in my ear.

"_Stephanie!_ You're supposed to call me _Stephanie!" _I screamed.

''Yessir Ms Plum," Hal said calmly. ''Uh, can you tell us where you are right now?"

I looked around. "By the Ferris wheel," I gasped.

That's when Potts almost got me with his wrench.

Now I hiked up my skirt and powered on. Ahead of me I could see a ride just getting ready to go, a vintage airplane ride. The final car was waiting at the platform. I shoved aside some fat little kid and squished myself into the tiny red painted plane.

"Go go go! Now!" I screamed at the carny running the ride.

He stared at me and at the crying kid, the one I'd knocked aside. "Lady, what is going on here?"

"Just go."

"You're too big, you don't have a ticket."

"_Too big_? Excuse me?" Now I know how Lula feels!

"No adults allowed, lady! Age ten and under."

"Pleeeeze?" I gave him my best Miss America smile and twenty bucks. The guy rolled his cigarette into the other side of his mouth, nudged the crier aside and started the ride.

Finally! Finally I flew. Eight clanking, laborious feet off the tarmac.

_Ping, ping ping!_ Potts dropped the wrench and produced a silenced handgun.

I swirled away. Then back around.

_Ping ping ping_. I leaned out and screamed, "Stop that, you lunatic, there are kids here!"

Of course no one heard the muffled shots—the midway was way too noisy—but they heard my screams and stared at me like _I_ was the nutcase. _Idiots._

The next time I swept by I saw that Rangeman had arrived. Big men in black, taking down little old crazy Potts.

...

**The tiny red plane finally landed.** I was the last one off the ride, my exit hampered by the gawking crowd that had formed to watch the takedown.

I climbed out and the carny marched up to me, pointed with his still smoldering cigarette, "Are those bullet holes?"

"No!" I lied.

Ranger appeared now, too. He put an arm around me. "Are you okay?"

''No! He tried to kill me!''

''Babe.''

''Don't ever, ever, ever, ask me to do anything like that, ever again!''

"I don't have anyone but you."

A silence ensued despite the commotion around us. I stared at Ranger, wishing in my heart that he meant that the way I wanted him to mean it.

If you get my drift.

But in my head, Smart Stephanie was saying, _He used you! He needed a female decoy. And you're it. You don't think he can send, say, Tank to decoy a sex offender, do you, dummy? Live with it._

The carny guy butted into our moment, "Oh, my God, you crazy bitch! You owe me a plane, you know that, right? "

I yelled back, ''Yeah, well, technically your boss shot at me, so...so, so just fuck off.''

"Babe." Ranger calmly intervened, flashing his patently fake ID that looks like an FBI badge. He told the park employee, "I'll take it from here, sir. No problem."

The carny stomped on his cigarette and held his ground. "Then _you_ owe me a plane, mister. Or we'll sue your ass, you can count on that!"

"Yes! And you owe me a candy bar! Maybe a whole case of candy bars! I need chocolate!" I added. Suddenly my voice was cracking, I was trying not to burst into tears from adrenaline overload. Or something.

Ranger handed the guy his business card and a hundred dollar bill. He took my arm and walked me out of the chaos, past the scene of the Rangeman boys cuffing Potts

Hank was in charge, looking huge and scary. Hank is Ranger's second in command. He's the guy who watches Ranger's back and he needs no further description because his name says it all.*

_Hmmmm...Somehow that worked better when he went by Tank...._

Ranger stopped in a quiet spot, grasped my upper arms and looked me over. He asked, "You're not gonna cry are you? Your eyes are red."

A tear dribbled down my cheek. "Am I fired? That guy says the park is gonna sue Rangeman!"

"I have insurance, babe."

"So I'm not fired? I hate job hunting."

"Yeah well your vacation at the shore is over."

"Vacation?" I screamed. "This was no freakin vacation, Ranger!"

"Tomorrow we have a bar distraction, happy hour at Randi's Sports Pub. Be there.''

And he walked away, leaving me standing there alone, tear-smeared face and no shoes. _Jerk._

The carny appeared at my side. ''Miss, miss, are okay?''

I sighed. "Yeah."

He handed me a grease stained bandanna. "Maybe blow your nose? You're crying."

"Tears of joy," I said sarcastically. "My rent will get paid this month." _If I survive_. I handed back the grubby hanky. "Thanks."

The carny gestured at the airplane ride."You want a free ride, lady?"

I sighed again. ''Buddy, trust me. There are no free rides.''

_**the end!**_

*** a mangled quote from 17, hc pg 127**

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**Thank you for reviewing! It means so much...sunny**


	6. Chapter 6 First Time

**A Random Life**

**.**

**Standard fanfic disclaimers apply. Some dialogue is paraphrased from Hard Eight, probably you'll recognize the famous lines.**

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a/n I was thinking this story would make up for Ranger's callousness [or so many of you thought] in the previous chapter, but maybe not. I always felt Ranger got a bad rap for this scene...he _is_ there, Morelli is very much NOT despite the fact that Ranger has told Stephanie earlier that he is working a job with the Feds. Later it is Stephanie who tells him they won't work, before he says, o_kay go back to Morelli then. _

The second part of this scene, another stand-alone/ just a Ranger solo short, is on my website/blog.

PS: in the previous chapter, Ranger was treating Stephanie like a work colleague...he did ask her if she was okay and for all we know Hal showed up with her shoes. Ranger was giving Stephanie the respect she deserved for doing her job! He doesn't cuddle Tank after a takedown does he?lol...

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**6 - That First Time**

_mercenary Ranger's side of the story - the famous scene in Hard Eight._

**Lately it seems like we're always staked out** on some asphalt rooftop in some urban shithole. Which I suppose is an improvement on the caves of Afghanistan or the sands of Iraq or the killing fields of Africa. At least when the job is done we can go home and take a hot shower, sleep in our own friggin' beds. But still.

My phone jiggled in my cargo pants pocket. I whispered, "Yo."

"Boss, Ms Plum just came home—alone."

"She went up to her apartment?"

"Yes sir. Lights all went on."

"No cop?"

"No sir, she seems to be entirely alone."

_Not if I could help it._

"I'll be there in 30, keep a close watch til I get there." I hung up on Manuel's _yessir_ and turned to Tank. We were doing surveillance from a warehouse roof in an industrial park in Port Newark. I said, "You can handle this. I'm offline til tomorrow morning."

"Rangeman…." Tank looked worried.

I said, "It's not supposed to go down before mid-morning tomorrow. If it happens earlier, you and Lester can handle it."

Tank didn't argue but he didn't look pleased. Tank's forte was planning and organizing—I was the wetwork expert, usually backed up by Lester Santos or Anthony Stewart. The job was one of these convoluted deals I get into and while Tank was the best there is, he wasn't always comfortable with the whole multilayered set-up that was our current life.

As it stood, Rangeman was contracted to the DEA and FBI for a joint job, first surveilling then removing an international drug importer and his crew. But intel had quickly surfaced that the drug ring was cover for a terrorist cell. I liaised with DC and took the contract to remove the terrorists. So we had to get in and delete the bad guys before the FBI or DEA got there—I was hoping to present a _fait accompli_, a done deal, I guess I should say, to them, make it look like someone—a rival, a competitor—got to the "drug lord" and his crew. This meant a lot of juggling and bullshitting to all our employers, but the sunny side of the deal was that all the government factions had to pay. Pay _me_, I mean. I love when I can triple bill for one op, so I'd been staying mostly on-site here with Tank and Lester, ready to go in when the moment was right.

But Stephanie was just as much a victim of terrorism as some unknown target of the jihadist cell. That crazed asshole Abruzzi had left a dissected—uh, bisected?—corpse on Steph's sofa, in her apartment, in her home. Where she should at least be able to feel safe if not actually _be_ safe, considering the flimsy construction and absurd locks.

I could still see Steph's face the other day when she said she'd have to go back to her place. She was terrified. I made a joke and the moment was glossed over. But no way was I going to leave her alone her first night back there.

I had expected Morelli to step up to the plate and make himself useful—but of course not. He was apparently incapable of ever _being there_ for Steph in any meaningful way. So I would get the job done instead. I smiled inside. I had the perfect solution, I knew just how to take Steph's mind off, so to speak.

I said to Tank, "I'm not leaving her alone there. Not the first night."

"Put Manny in with her."

"Are you crazy? No way. Tonight she needs more than a bodyguard, she needs someone who cares about her, someone who loves her."

"And that would be you, boss? You love her?" said Tank.

Silence from me, I couldn't believe my own ears.

I shrugged a little. I said, "I'll call Anthony for back-up here."

"I already called him, Ranger. Just in case. He can cover for tonight but he has some deal or job or something big, he can't cover after oh-six hundred…."

"But he will if I need him to."

"I guess."

"I'll be here by 6, no problem. I'll call him from the road."

I turned and slipped away, Tank's whispered _Good luck boss_ following me

….

**Now I knocked on Steph's door. **She opened it after a moment, and I took in her pale face and dilated pupils, her blue eyes wide and scared. I leaned on her doorjamb and said, "Babe, your couch is in the hall."

"It has death cooties," she said.

_Of course it does._ For a second I wondered about myself, do I have death cooties? Certainly I've seen, I've, um, made?—more dead men than that poor ugly sofa ever has. I slipped past Steph into the bare living room. I could smell freshly baked cookies, chocolate chip I was guessing. Steph offered me the plate with the cookies and I took one, watching her carefully.

In the future would chocolate chip cookies be indelibly linked to death and terror in her brain? Would Abruzzi have ruined even such a sweet, simple pleasure for this beautiful girl in front of me? Not if I could help it. If I had my way—and I would—she'd forever link the smell of cookies with a night of erotic pleasure.

I said, "Frozen?

And she said calmly, "Not anymore."

Typical Steph, she made no excuses for her lack of homemaking skills. Sometimes I wanted to offer her a finer life, a life with real cookies, maybe. And better wine than that mediocre merlot she surprisingly produced the other night. But on the other hand, I knew that her lack of pretention, her disinterest in material things, was part of her appeal.

I bit into the cookie, okay, not bad—and I remembered that I had intel for her. One of my FBI contacts on the Port Newark job had actually made himself useful and supplied me with the information about Abruzzi's missing Napoleonic medal.

After a bit a teasing, I gave Steph the info, part of my mind wondering about someone who'd be obsessed with a freakin' war medal. I have a whole drawerful of them, locked up somewhere. And I gladly give them all away to keep this woman from harm. Distracted by the idea, I chewed my cookie and reconsidered. After all I didn't bleed into the sand of Nowherestan just to give the token to an asshole like Abruzzi. At least I earned the medals, I didn't buy them.

I refocused on Stephanie and teased, "I'll just add the information to your tab."

Her eyes got big and she took a deep breath. _Oh no, no hyperventilating tonight, babe_, I thought. I backed her against the wall and kissed her. She tasted like the cookies—and fear. Or—not fear exactly, not like her fear of Abruzzi or the dead man.

Trepidation.

That was it—mixed with excitement and nerves and insecurity. I kissed her some more, deeper. I kissed her throat, her shoulder, then tasted her white skin with the tip of my tongue. Her body went all pliant and her knees gave out. I caught her with one arm around her waist, then slipped my other arm under her knees and I carried her to her bedroom, only a few feet away but maybe the longest ten feet I've ever walked. She didn't fight me though or shrink away, not even when I laid her down on the unmade sheets and undressed her with a few quick motions. Her hands slipped under my t-shirt and ran up my back, exploring shyly.

Pulling away just for a moment, I stood up in the dim room and toed my boots off, unfastened my loaded utility belt and stowed my weapons on the nightstand. Then I quickly stripped. Steph surprised me then, she didn't close her eyes or turn away, she looked at me boldly, liking what she saw.

Her pink tongue touched her upper lip and she reached out for me. I fell into her arms, into her softness, into heaven.

….

**Afterward she slipped to my side** and curled up against me, her hands still exploring, running down my chest and abs. It had been too fast, that first time, I knew it, but all the years of pent up lust and longing—for both of us—had culminated in an explosion of wet kisses and slick sweaty bodies and tangled limbs. Our needs, our pleasure couldn't wait for slow and gentle, she had convulsed around me almost immediately, then again, and yet again as I exploded too. Now I brushed her wild curls away from her face and kissed her temple, breathing deeply of her scent, part Dolce Vita, part strawberry shampoo, part satisfied woman.

Then my hands moved down her satiny skin. I whispered, "It's time…"

Steph's breathing hitched and her voice was a little husky as she said, "Is this the part with the handcuffs?"

I smiled and answered softly, "I don't need cuffs to enslave a woman."

This time I'd take it slow—after all, I had all night. Didn't I?

….

**My watch beeped at 5.30 and my phone promptly rang,** jerking me out of the depths of sated sleep. Our bodies were pressed together in the narrow bed, we had slept for perhaps an hour or less. My arm was around Steph's waist, holding her close to me and my face was buried in her glorious hair. And I had an odd feeling, a realization that just for these moments I was happy. Now I silently rolled out of Steph's bed. I had a date with a terrorist this AM and we all know how that goes, don't we? I wanted to whisper that I'd be back soon, that I'd bring donuts and coffee later but Steph's sleeping face looked so beautiful, so peaceful.

Maybe I'd be back before she even knew I was gone.

….

a/n- "Running a Job" is on my blog in the Enemy One folder/ tab, link in my profile.

Thank you for reviewing! sunny


	7. Chapter 7 Black Leather Pants Again

**ooops I forgot to say there s a new Anthony One Shot on my blog tonite too. Link is in my profile, enjoy!**

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**A Random Life**

**.**

**.****a/n Thanks** for all the reviews for this and other stories/ series. Note to those who review anonymously...**I am fine with "anon"** but it means I can't thank you personally or answer comments/ questions. You can pm me thru ff or email me thru my blog, too. I love to hear from everyone! Thanks! sunny

**a/n 2** This takes place during Seven Up, the DeChooch case [you may recall Steph accidentally gets sort of engaged to Morelli?]...but references Twelve because in my world the books are in different order, any order.

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**Black. Leather. Pants. Again.**

_Stephanie_

**I stood there in my living room** and dubiously eyed the shiny silver shopping bag just delivered by my friend and mentor Ranger. Tomorrow we are headed to Philly to work an undercover job at a members only private "couples" club. Whatever that means...

''Babe, we'll go in as a couple, it should only take one or two nights.''

"And we're sleeping over in Philly?" I had asked.

''Yes. Is that a problem?"

"Um, well, Joe..."

"You're asking permission from Morelli now?"

"No! But we're sort of..."

''Stephanie, this is a business trip. We are picking up a felon on a federal warrant."

"Will we stay in some cheap crappy hotel?"

"No. Philadelphia actually has a Four Seasons, babe, you'll like it. If you're good, I'll even take you out for Chinese dinner one night."

"Chinese in Philly? What, they put the lo mein on garlic bread and add fried onions and gooey cheese?"

"No."

"Hmmm. Okay, fine. I'll do it."

... ... ...

**Now I looked over my outfit** for the job. It was actually not too s-and-m bondage-y. Exactly. There was a gorgeous long black leather coat, a couple of soft, slinky black tops whose necklines I was guessing would plunge deeply when I wore them. A stunning pair of black stiletto FMPs...and Black. Leather. Pants.

No underwear.

Ranger asked, ''Should you try it on?"

''Yes! These pants better not fit like the Scrog black leather pants, Ranger, because no way am I going into a bondage club in pants like that!''

I picked up the pants and examined the label. Pricey.

"Babe, those pants were amazing.''

''I had butt crack cleavage!''

''But still...''

''Ranger!''

He just looked at me blandly, no reaction, so I turned back to shopping bag, peeked in. I pulled out a sleek black messenger bag. "Ooooh. Nice bag, I may keep it." I opened the bag. The label shrieked _expensive._ "Geez. Or maybe not!''

"You can keep it, babe, it has an integrated cell charger, panic button, gun pouch, trackers of course...''

"Geez," I said again. I reached into the bag for the last item. "And what is this? Perfume? Jimmy Choo?" I looked at Ranger. "I can't accept perfume from you! I'm engaged to Joe."

Ranger moved in close, reached out and took the perfume package from me. He grabbed my empty hand gently and said, "Still no ring, babe.''

''No but my mom bought me a dress!''

''Babe." Ranger looked like he might smile—or laugh. He efficiently opened the pink box, took out the very pretty pale pink glass polka dot bottle of perfume. It looked a little odd and frilly in his big strong hands. He took my hand again, spritzed my wrist, then rubbed a callused thumb cross my pulse point. I'm sure he felt my stupid heart begin to race. After a moment he raised my perfumed wrist to his face and sniffed. "I like it...sweet and spicy. Suits you," he said, his lips against my sensitive, tender inner arm. His mouth trailed up my arm, then he pulled me in closer and kissed my throat, my neck below my ear...whispered, "Let's put some here too..."

_"Ranger...!"_ I stepped back and tried to shove him away. He let me go instantly, but we stood there very close together, our eyes locked. I could feel the heat of his body, and I knew he could see my breathing hitch.

I moved back a few feet. Looked away.

"Okay so try the pants on, " said Ranger, all business once more. "I'll be here tomorrow at 5 to pick you up.''

''Uh...maybe we can meet somewhere in Philly? Maybe take two cars?''

"Babe, that POS you're driving hardly qualifies as a car—or even a vehicle."

"The thing is... I have an appointment in Princeton at 2."

?

"It's a job! I have rent to pay, I even like to eat now and then."

''And?"

"It's at the university, a , a, a research project, I'll get paid to participate, Connie suggested it.''

?

''I need. The. Money!''

Ranger shrugged. "Fine. I'll pick you up at noon and I'll wait while you do your, uh, research." He handed me a Rangeman business card with the pertinent info about the s-and-m job written on the back. "Memorize this. I'll bring the file tomorrow."

''But...''

No answer. I turned to look at him, but he was gone...

... ... ..

**The clothes fit just fine.** They were gorgeous, in fact. Too nice for the research thing, so I repacked them in a duffle and wore nice jeans and a pretty sweater for the drive.

I told Ranger the address for my appointment. He programmed the GPS of the big black BMW we were driving, then lapsed into his usual silence. I tolerated it for maybe thirty minutes then I said, "So I guess you're wondering all about this research project?"

* * *

_Ranger_

**Stephanie may have her spidey sense**, and good instincts—but she has absolutely no ESP. I wasn't thinking about her appointment at all. I had been silently reviewing tonight's job combined with some thoughts about next week's out-of-country op for...uh...

Steph is still talking, something about how the Princeton job involves sex research.

Well okay, now I'm listening.

"They are trying to learn more about, uh, human sexuality..."

''And you're their idea of a case study?"

Stephanie turns and glares at me. "I know about sex!"

''I'm sure, babe."

''But, no," she goes on, "this is about how being in love makes sex better, and then how it genetically has changed humans to like sex with, um, good looking people...?"

I try not to laugh.

''So...they want people who are in love, who are getting married and Connie suggested I apply. They pay good money for each session!"

"Session?"

"Nothing like that! Just, I think, a computer thing."

"Sounds hot, babe. Have fun."

She doesn't say another word til we get to the office in a research facility on the Princeton campus.

...

**The research scientist** is a late thirties woman with a bad haircut and no makeup. We walk in and her mouth drops open. She spends quite a few moments eying me, then when Steph asks, ''Is everything okay?" the lady jerks out of her revery and smiles at Stephanie.

She says, "Oh my, I can see why you are a candidate for this program, Ms Plum!"

Steph looks confused. "Did you get the photos and so on? I emailed everything that was on the preliminary list."

The woman checks her computer, nods. ''Yes. All your _intimate_ photos are here. I think there's plenty to play with here...not just your boyfriend's pictures, your family and friends photos too."

Stephanie turns to me and whispers, "Don't worry. I didn't give them your photo. I know you value your privacy!"

The woman is still talking. She tells Steph the photos woill be flashed on a computer screen and a device similar to a lie detector apparatus would measure the difference between Steph's reaction to say, Lula, or her mother...and the man she loves.

"You do love him?"

"...yes...!"

"That's so romantic! Soulmates?" The woman looks starry-eyed and slightly goofy. ''Would you die for him? He'd die for you?"

Stephanie looks at me and I don't need ESP to know she is remembering last fall when I walked into her apartment to offer my life to save her and Julie from Scrog. She says nothing.

Finally she asks the woman, "That's it?"

''Yes, very simple.''

**... ... ...**

**The woman took Steph** into the next room, got her hooked up and returned to the main room where I waited. I asked, ''Can I watch?''

''Oh sure..." then to Steph, ''Begin."

Stephanie sat and watched the subliminal images.

After maybe five minutes of silence the researcher exhibited signs of growing perplexity.

"Hmmm..." Frantic keyboard typing. "Okay, Ms Plum, please just relax and take a two minute break, rest your eyes." She cued annoying retro New Age music, poor Steph.

I asked, ''What's wrong?"

''She doesn't react like we expected. I wonder if the cell phone she used to take the photos was defective? She took uh, sensual?—pictures of, let me see...a Joe? But nothing, nada." The woman stared at me. "She shows more emotion when she sees the guy's dog than when she sees him with his shirt off. The program isn't working right!"

I smiled to myself. ''Wait,'' I told the woman. I took out my cell phone and snapped a few arm's length shots of myself. "Here, add these in."

She did so and the experiment began again.

''Oh! Oh my.''

The sensors on her screen were going crazy. The woman smiled. ''Oh yes! Now that is a woman in love!"

She looked up at me. "Wow. so you're Joe?"

"No."

...

_**the end, series tbc.**_


	8. Chapter 8 Rumors

There's a new Anthony oneshot...actually it's Ranger and Anthony..on my blog, link is in my profile...6/22/12

* * *

**A Random Life**

.

a/n AU to the timeline in my usual MR world. A little angst but HEA guaranteed, hang in there!

* * *

**8 - Rumors of my Death**

**.**

_Stephanie_

"**Maybe it's a ploy—**a, a,—a _ruse._ For one of his deep cover jobs." I said hopefully.

"Anything is possible." Tank's deep voice was determinedly calm.

"But?"

"But it is highly unlikely he would have done this without telling me."

**It was a late summer evening**, hot and muggy, but I was freezing cold and shaking all over. One night last month Joe looked at me after one of our balls-to-the-wall sex sessions and he told me that three lovers in his bed was one too many, at least when one of the three was Ranger's invisible presence. So Morelli and I were off again, permanently this time, but we were still friends, though the fuck-buddy stuff was over. I had arrived at Morelli's house a few minutes ago, carrying a Pino's pizza box and a six-pack of Bud. Friday night baseball with Joe was a constant in my life.

But instead of being greeted by an exuberant Bob the Dog and a formerly horny Joe, I entered the small row house to find three silent and somber men awaiting me. Morelli, with—bizarrely—Tank and Lester Santos. I didn't need ESP to know that something was seriously wrong. I clutched the pizza box to my chest and gasped, "Ranger?"

"We received word from the Pentagon today, Stephanie. Ranger did not make it to his extraction check point last week—he's MIA—missing in action." Tank coughed, ground out, "Presumed dead."

My knees buckled and I began hyperventilating.

"Nononononooooo….."

Morelli and Santos grabbed me, sat me down next to Tank on the sofa. Tank awkwardly put his arm around me, while Lester sat himself close by my other side. Morelli squatted in front of me, holding my hands. Grasping at denial, I had asked my question about a deep covert op and at Tank's denial, tears flowed down my face. Lester gulped and looked away, his own eyes tearing up and his face turning red in that way guys get when they don't want to cry in public. Tank looked stern and stoic, but as I searched his face for any ray of hope, I could see that his eyes were red too.

Even Joe looked sad and concerned.

I said, "He came to say goodbye—you know how he does?" They all nodded. "And I lied to him!"

"I'm sure you didn't lie to Ranger, Steph," said Lester.

"I didn't tell him I love him! A lie of omission is still a lie."

Morelli said, "Parochial school guilt is not necessary right now, Cupcake. You did _not_ lie."

"He knew you loved him, Bomber. Don't waste time on regrets."

I sobbed, "He said, _I'll be offline, babe. Call Tank if you need anything—_that's what he always says. But his hair was cut so short and his eyes were so serious, I knew it was something big, something scary. And I didn't have the guts to say _I love you_. I didn't even say _Good luck, take care, I'll be waiting for you_. I just said _Okay, be safe.''_

Lester said gruffly, "He loved that about you. Ranger wasn't a man who wanted a woman to fuss or to worry. He wouldn't want you to cry or get all mushy when he leaves—left, I mean."

Tank added, "He loved you."

Morelli said, "And I'm sure he knew you loved him too, it shined out of your face, your eyes, like a beacon every time you saw him. Trust me, I know—and if I could see that, I'm sure he could too."

"Quit talking about him in the past tense! What if he is hurt or captured or, or…_something!_ And is just waiting for us to rescue him?"

Tank shook his head. "That's not how it works, Steph. He was on a solo mission with a specific extraction protocol. If that went FUBAR, he has ways to contact us, no matter what."

"And—he—didn't?"

"No, I'm so sorry, but, no...Excuse me." He opened his ridiculously tiny high tech cell phone, punched _speaker._

"Yes?"

"I'm at Newark Airport, Tank. Where's my ride?"

"Ranger?"

"…Yeah?"

"You're supposed to be dead."

?

"General—ah, you know—contacted me."

"That jerk-off."

"They said you were KIA, man." Tank's voice cracked a little. (KIA= killed in action.)

Ranger said, "Rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated."

Tank said, "It's '_reports'_."

"What?"

"The quote is _reports of_, not _rumors of_…."

Lester got up and walked out.

"Tank."

Tank said, "Santos will be there ASAP, boss….Uh—why didn't you phone before now?"

"…Lost my cell. I accidentally flushed it down—nevermind, Tank…. Hey, can you call Steph for me, tell her I'll be by later?"

"Sure, boss, but…"

I reached out and took the phone from Tank. I said, "Welcome home, Ranger. I love you."

Tank and Morelli doing a happy dance was not a pretty sight. I focused on the tiny phone.

"Good to know, babe."

_**The end/ HEA**_

_**A/N **_The quote is from Mark Twain.


	9. Chapter 9 Trenton Summer Day

**A Random Life**

**.**

**9 - Another Summer Day in Trenton **

_Stephanie_

**It was midmorning on a muggy summer day in Trenton**. Lula and I were headed to my current POS car, just having just finished our session at Thor's Dojo-and-Spa Salon on Hamilton Avenue. I was sweating profusely and Lula was dancing around, throwing out jabs and shadowboxing. In this heat!

_We've lost our minds._

Yes, Lula and I are taking kickboxing lessons at the dojo. Tank of all people signed up me and Lula as a birthday gift to Lula. He told her, "Baby girl, I want to know you can protect yourself when I'm not there to do it for you. Please." Lula had gotten all starry-eyed about the _please_, yeah I know how that is, and so here we were. Surprisingly Lula was a natural at kickboxing. Or at least she loved it. First day of class the instructor had taken one look at her spike heeled sandals and declared her feet lethal weapons. The rest is, maybe, history.

Now she whirled, twirled...and stopped dead. She grabbed my arm.

"Don't look!"

I stopped and looked around. "Don't look at what?"

''Over there! At the sidewalk table!" Lula rolled her eyes to the opposite side of the street. I casually cut my eyes over.

"The Monkey and The Bear?" I whispered.

It was a Jersey style pseudo-British pub with darkened windows and neon signs advertising British and Irish ales. The standing blackboard by the door blared _**Full English Breakfast!**_! in bright pink chalk.

The pub wasn't very busy at a little past 10 AM but there was one customer sitting outside, his face bent over the local paper, shoveling food into his mouth.

"Take a picture!" hissed Lula. "Be casual"

''What?"

''Just do it.''

I dug out my phone and snapped a shot of the man. Lula pulled me into the doorway of a mom-and-pop drugstore. We stared at the color photo. The man was late middle aged, nasty thinning once-red hair on his head and face, bad teeth, freckles and wrinkles. Despite the heat he was wearing corduroy pants and a tweed jacket over a grubby once-white wifebeater. Red-grey chest hair sprouting out of the frayed ribbing.

The photo caught him open mouthed, smearing his fried bread into an oozing puddle of yucky yellow egg yolk.

"Eeeew," we whispered in unison.

Then, "So?" I asked.

Lula whispered, "That there is Bryce Clinton-Barton! He's been FTA for at least ten years! We gotta call Connie!"

Skips turn up everywhere, anywhere. Any time. I knew not to argue. I phoned Connie and sent her the picture.

"Omigod, it does look like him,'' she squealed. ''He's the longest un-captured FTA on our books, just mentioning his name gives Vinnie a rash!"

Vinnie with a rash is good, a capture fee to share with Lula is better.

"What do you want us to do?'' I asked Connie.

''Let me think! For the first time in my life, I have no idea what I'm supposed to do...I am almost positive it's him, but still..."

"Hurry! He's eating his sausages now!" said Lula. "This Clinton-Barton is worth fifty thousand dollars, white girl."

"Plus interest," added Connie who overheard.

" You an' me could have one hell of a shoe shopping trip with our cut, lady!"

Over the cell phone Connie said, "I think Ranger has the file on Clinton-Barton, you should call him, ask for a recent photo. Ranger can access DMV files."

"What did he do? Why does Ranger have the file?"

"You gotta ask him."

I pressed _one _on my speed dial.

"Babe."

"Ranger!"

"Your GPS is still working."

"Nevermind that! It's not about my car!" _Geez._ "Listen, you know about a guy called Bryce Clinton-Barton? Connie says you have the file.''

''Yes.''

''So...?''

''He's an ex-pat Brit, or pretends to be. Really he's from Paramus, born and raised in Jersey. Real name is Joe Smolkowskiwicz. Owes Vinnie _mucho dinero_, babe."

"Well, he's here at this Monkey and Bear Pub, stuffing cholesterol down his throat. What were the charges anyway?''

''He's a sex offender, babe, stay clear.''

''Sex offender? Like rape? Or—child molester?''

"He posed as a cut-rate x-ray technician, worked out of a medical imaging office that was busted for Medicaid fraud. When the principles at the clinic were arrested, they found out that Clinton-Barton was taking naked photos of the patients instead of x-rays, was selling them online. Bust was for federal pornography violations."

"Eeeew," Lula and I chorused again. She added, "That's just like them there transit authority guys at the airport!"

A beat of silence while I am guessing Ranger silently sighed.

I asked him, "Do you want me to take him down or would you rather send in more guys for him, to maybe beat him up?"

"Oooh! Oooh! He's payin' this bill, Steph! He leavin'...shit, that man is a bad tipper. A single buck for that breakfast and all the coffee he could drink?"

I heard Ranger again say, ''Babe,'' but I interrupted.

''Email me the pickup contract!" Then to Lula, "Let's get him!"

Thirty seconds later, Lula landed on top of Mr. Clinton-Barton. The old creep let out an _ooouf! _and puked up his breakfast.

Lula scolded him, ''Now look what you done! That ain't gonna keep Stephanie from cuffing you, nuh uh. Put the cuffs on him, Steph."

''I don't have cuffs.''

''What!''

''We were at the gym! Who needs handcuffs at a gym!'' I yelled.

Lula looked interested, ''Well, back when I was a 'ho..."

I clapped my hands over my ears and therefore didn't hear Rangeman arrive. Ranger in the 911, Brett and Hal in an Explorer.

My neck tingled though and I turned. "He barfed,'' I told Ranger.

"Wonderful."

Ranger reached over the canvas street barrier of the sidewalk cafe and grabbed a pitcher of ice water. "Pick him up," he told Hal. Hal put on blue rubber gloves and complied, standing warily to one side. Ranger dumped the water on poor Clinton-Barton's head. He howled.

Lula told him, ''No sense cryin' over spilt water, boy. You'll have plenty to cry about in jail."

We watched the black SUV carry the low-life away.

Finally Ranger gave a tiny nod and said, "Good one, ladies," and he was gone.

''Don't that beat all? Just—all...," whispered Lula.

_**the end**_

_**Thanks for reviewing! You'll make my day...**_


	10. Chapter 10 Do These Come in Black?

**A Random Life**

**.**

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**Rated M! **slightly more suggestive than my usual...

a/n for those of you who thought last week's Stephanie was ungrateful and whiny [in the newest Shelter chapter]...consider her situation: 6 1/2 months pregant, a big house sprung on her w/ no input from her, very far from friends, family, and familiar places. I'd love the house but maybe I'd be a little grumpy too? What do you think? How would you feel?

* * *

**10 - Do These Come in Black?**

**. **

_[Stephanie. A dreary spring evening in late March]_

**Ranger walked into our loft on Haywood** Street, silent as usual. He set his weapons belt on the glass coffee table and sat down next to me on the leather sofa, still silent.

"Hey, Ranger." I offered my face for a kiss but he just sat staring into space.

"Babe."

"Uh, are you okay?"

"Yeah. So, Steph, I need you to do something for me." He sounded neutral—tired, not angry—but I was worried.

"I'm not gonna like this, am I?"

Ranger shrugged a fraction. "I think you'll be okay with it."

"Okay, shoot. Er, uh, you know what I mean."

_sigh._ From Ranger!

He said, "You know how it was really dark when I left the house this morning?"

"Uh, well no, I was asleep...?"

He nodded. "I got a call at 3.47 am from a snitch. I'm looking for this guy Bernard Whitesmith. Federal FTA. I got up, got dressed in the dark so I wouldn't disturb you..."

I smiled at him. "And I really really appreciate it. So...how did the pickup go?''

''Whitesmith is a bad man, Steph, he should never have been bonded out. This time the arrest was for Grand Theft Auto-"

"That's not federal," I interrupted.

"The man stole a classic restored 1927 Duesenberg J-model phaeton from an antiques auto dealer in Parsippany. The owner was just getting ready to let a supreme court judge give it a test drive..."

"A what? A Duesenberg?"

"Yeah. It's a high end luxury car, or was, almost hundred years ago. One of the fastest racing engines of the day, a "straight-eight" cylinder, overhead cams; 4oo HP. Topped the 150 MPH mark easily. Some old lady had it in her barn, a family heirloom, mint condition—just brought in, polished up and tuned up."

"Who'd want an old car like that? Did it even have satellite radio? Bluetooth?"

"Babe, it barely had a gas gauge. But that's the charm of these old cars. And they're works of art, really."

"Works of art?"

"Yes. And this car was valued at $500,000. Anyway, Whitehouse was running from a stickup at the 7-11. He wanted a getaway car, he didn't care what. He dragged the dealer and the judge out of the car at gunpoint, doused them with charcoal lighter. Lucky for them, the car's cigarette lighter didn't work and he couldn't find his Bic. He got six blocks and the Duesenberg died."

"Old age?"

"Funny. Whitehouse was arrested for grand theft auto, felony armed robbery—the 7-11, remember?—and attempted murder of a federal judge."

I nodded. "Hence the federal warrant, when he went FTA."

"Exactly."

"So...?"

... ... ...

_[Ranger]_

**Eighteen hours earlier,** I rolled out of bed and silently dressed in the dark. I armed myself by touch: familiar Glock 9mm in the back of my jeans; my other 9mm on my ankle; my knives—here and there. I shoved a set of handcuffs into my back pocket and tiptoed out the door. Stood out in the foyer, putting on my boots.

_Married life._

Tank was waiting for me in the garage. We silently drove to the warehouse on Grove Street. Took down Whitehouse, textbook, perfect. All in the dark, more or less.

Once he was secure I rolled the man over. I shined my Maglite to make sure it was him.

"You Whitesmith?"

"Who wants to know?"

"Bond enforcement. Ranger Manoso."

The FTA looked me over and laughed, his face a distorted mask in the darkness, only illuminated by my flashlight. He said, "So you're the great Manoso."

I said, "And you're a deranged moron."

The man shrugged as best he could with his arms cuffed underneath his body. "We all have our problems."

"Yeah but we're not all firebug sickos, asswipe," growled Tank.

''I am not a sicko, big boy—"

Tank lunged.

"You think you're a fucking genius, you tried to incinerate a judge!"

"I am what I am, a genius with access to unstable chemicals," smirked Whitehouse.

Tank glowered. "BBQ lighter fluid isn't really bigtime, idiot."

"Enough." I said. "Right now the genius is getting a stay in the local lockup." I was tired and this was going nowhere. I hefted Whitesmith to his feet and shoved him towards the Explorer.

... ... ...

**Now at home I finished** the story, turned to Stephanie.

She was watching me wide eyed. "Then what!"

"We got to TPD just fine, babe, still pitch fucking dark out, still oh dark hundred. The place was pretty busy, change of shift coming up."

Tank and I manhandled the idiot into the brightly lit station, stood there a moment while our eyes adjusted to the glare.

"And every cop in Trenton started laughing their fucking asses off," I told Steph.

"What! Why?"

"Whitehouse was wearing a set of neon pink tiger stripe velvet and fuzzy neon—I don't even know what. Faux monkey fur?— trimmed handcuffs, babe."

"Ooooh..." Finally Stephanie blushed a little. Yeah, I could see light dawning in her eyes. "Oh."

"Yeah, sound familiar? Like maybe I picked them up by accident in the dark?"

"But..."

... ... ...

_[Steph]_

**Ranger turned and stared at me** with his black unfathomable eyes. "I don't embarrass easily, babe. But every cop in this city now thinks I tie you up with pink fuzzy handcuffs."

"Uh..." Only fear of his reprisal kept me from laughing too.

"Care to explain?"

"No..." I frantically tried to find a good explanation.

Ranger reached into his cargo pocket and pulled out the pink cuffs. "Since everyone in town thinks I use these, babe," he dangled them in front of my face, "I think we should make their fantasy come true."

I jumped up. "Nooooo..."

But of course he was faster and in a second I was, well, chained naked to the headboard in our bedroom.

Ranger smiled at me and started undressing. Halfway naked he froze. "Just tell me these cuffs aren't Morelli's."

"_What?_ No. No...I was just, uh, thinking that we—you and me, I mean—" I stammered.

Ranger stared into my soul, read my mind. He nodded a little. "Fine."

"What was the favor you mentioned?" I squirmed a little under his scrutiny. Was he measuring me for nipple rings, or what? He seemed intrigued by the cuffs at least. I told myself that was good—so far. "You said you needed me to do something?" I was hoping he wouldn't ask me to use the cuffs on him! Not pink!

He said coolly, "In the future, please keep your sex toys here in the bedroom. If you strew them all over my dressing room, I shudder to think what I might inadvertently be wearing next."

"I'll do my best, Ranger."

He pulled off his cargo pants and smiled at me again. "Payback's a bitch, babe."

_Excellent._ I smiled.

.

the end, series tbc

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yes, yes, probably he'd have noticed the furriness...but he just woke up! So just, suspend disbelief?—and review anyway?


	11. Chapter 11 We Did That Too

**A Random Life**

**.**

**a/n Merc Ranger and Stephanie early on, when he is her "mentor." Book 3 or 4?**

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**11 - We Did That Too **

**.**

_Stephanie_

**It was, of course, one of those days. **You know, a Stephanie Plum day: chase the lowlife idiot skip through rat infested alley, try to follow him over the chain link fence he vaulted so easily. End up with no shirt and a three inch gash in my shoulder. Yeah, yeah, I got caught on the loose wire at the top, hung there like a side of beef til a couple of Ranger's boys came and cut me down.

They rounded up a perspiring Lula and transported us both to St Francis Hospital in the Burg. The hot young men in black maintained stoic silence but I was sure they were laughing hysterically inside.

Worse still—they called their boss.

Three hours later I was seated on an exam table in a curtained off ER treatment room still waiting for a medical person—anyone!—to appear. I sat there shivering and half naked, dressed in my torn, dirty jeans and black lace bra, my t-shirt having been left KIA [killed in action] in the alley. Suddenly my nipples perked up and the fine hairs on my neck shivered. Not incipient shock, not a doctor come to inflict more pain...

Nope.

Ranger. The curtain was pulled aside and there he was. He looked superficially neutral, but I thought I detected a hint of concern and a dash of exasperation. Go figure.

He walked straight across the three feet of linoleum between us and wrapped me in a warm hug.

"Babe." _Are you okay?_

"Ranger." _Yeah, sort of, well—no._

I was proud that my voice, muffled in his black t-shirt, didn't wobble. I tightened my arms around his back and breathed in the safeness and solidity that was Ranger. He now stood between my knees and it was all I could do to not wrap my legs around his waist and tear his shirt off. His warm hands ran up my back, brushed my bra band, and he realized I was almost naked. He stepped back and looked me over.

"Babe?" This inflection of his pet name for me meant, _What the fuck happened?_

I blew out a big sigh and crossed my arms on my chest. His beautiful dark eyes followed the motion, lingered, returned to my face. I realized I was creating pseudo-cleavage and dropped my arms, clasped the gurney's edge. I said, "Morty Kornkowski."

"Mmmm?" Ranger wasn't totally paying attention. His eyes had returned to my nipples, standing out in the sheer black lace.

I leaned forward a little and his eyes refocused on mine. I continued, "Mortimer Barnaby Kornkowski." I recited, "Failure to Appear; bonds totaling 25 grand out of Vinnie's pocket; charges mostly small value larceny-shoplifting and so on."

?

"His thing is petty theft. Morty likes to hit the strip mall on Hamilton, especially CVS and Pets Palace. He, uh, specializes in cherry condoms and gerbils."

That got Ranger's attention. "Do I want to know?"

"His girlfriend promised he'd get lucky if he'd get her a new pet."

_I still don't want to know._

We both made _eeew_ faces and the nurse carrying in the suture tray tripped and dropped everything. Ranger's _ick_ expression, subtle as it may be, is as devastating as his smile, I guess. The poor flustered woman gathered everything up and scurried back out of the room. Ranger watched her go, appearing momentarily mystified.

He turned back to me. "Babe, why didn't you shoot him in the foot? I thought that was your specialty?"

"My gun is in my brown bear cookie jar." _And I'm out of bullets._

"Steph, you have to learn to love or at least respect your gun."

"Do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Love your, um, gun?"

He ignored the innuendo, Ranger takes his guns very seriously. "Seems I've had a gun in my hand most of my life, babe. My father taught me how to shoot when I was a little kid."

I nodded sagely. "Playing catch is so impersonal."

Long empty stare. Then, "We did that too."

_**the end, series to be continued**_

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_**Thank you for reviewing! Reviews are treasured. Thanks! sunny**_


	12. Chapter 12 Distraction

**A Random Life**

**.**

**.**

*This is for all of you who love Ranger and Stephanie working together... It's kinda short, bec I put up Ch 3 of Shrink Wrapped, too. And "Saving Julie" Part One should be on my blog late tonight 7.20/21/12. Link is in my profile, enjoy.

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**12 - An Extraction**

**. **

_a few weeks after Nantucket... (A Perfect Fourth of July)_

_Ranger_

**Okay. Maaaaybe it beats wearing a purple shirt** and babysitting a bunch of brats.

But maybe not.

Anthony has deigned to join me for this briefing. He catches my thought, gives me a sharp glance. I shrug a tiny bit and we refocus on our General who is earnestly talking me—us—into taking the job.

"...blah blah blah...We cannot allow these people to operate on American soil. This man has come here and infiltrated our world, our system, but make no mistake, he _is_ _a terrorist_."

The general is speechifying. We stare at him, convey openmouthed bemusement without changing from our normal blankness.

The general catches our look and shrugs. "It's what the president told me to say. He's not happy that these people are using fraudulent American citizenship to infiltrate our defense systems."

_Hmmmm..._

...

**A few days later we are in the West Coast's Washington, **the state...in a small town twenty miles southeast of the Canadian border. Not our usual territory, but not awful. Cool and drizzly, but the roadhouse bar where our mark hangs out is busy, the parking lot full of pickups and grubby SUVs.

We are planning a classic bar extraction and much to my discomfort I have decided to use Stephanie in her usual role.

No one does it better...

The corner our man frequents is wired, Stephanie is wired and we're ready to roll. I look around to signal Steph to move in. For some reason Anthony has buttonholed Steph in the corner of the lot by the dumpster. He leans in and speaks softy. I listen with half attention, mostly watching for Grant Pinowsky, aka Abdullah bin Allad, to arrive.

The man's plan is to enlist disenfranchised militia types, "real Americans" to further his terrorist plans. He is targeting the west coast, since the east has become so well-defended (or so it is hoped).

My concern about using Steph—who is thrilled of course—must have transmitted to Anthony who tells her, "In all the years I've known Ranger, I've never seen him like this. So if you blow this op, break his heart, I will kill you. And bury your body in the woods."

**"**Wow. Okay." Stephanie laughs a little. "Not your usual brand of humor and charm, sweetie."

"This is serious shit, baby. Don't break my heart either, Steph."

"Anthony. I have it covered. Easy-peasy, piece of cake." And she saunters off into the bar after the target who has now arrived.

...

**In the bar, every eye turns to Steph** in her fancy red dress and FMPs. The dress is too much for the setting but cheap, from Target, so it subtly gives the right clues: _girl on the make._

The mark has set up shop in a corner with a few of his recruits. Most of them are watching Steph who has asked for a strawberry Jell-O-tequila shooter, "And keep 'em _coming_..." but a big lumberjack guy who we believe is the second in command leans in and says to bin Allad, "What do you suppose the punishment is for what we're doing here?"

The table is bugged, remember...and we listen and watch closely. Pinowsky—or Abdullah bin Allad—looks seriously brave and admits, "Death. Maybe life in prison."

If he's smart he might want to hope for death but our job tonight is simply to extract him and deliver him to an un-named national security agency.

Steph gulps her second shooter and turns her long legs towards the conspirators. Flashing lots of smooth white thigh she stands as if headed to the bathrooms, but instead leans in, whispers, **"**Awesome. You guys must be up to something, um,..." (I picture her licking her glossy red lips),"...exciting?"

The target looks down her dress and Muslim or not, is interested. She smiles, pulls up a chair. The bartender delivers her third, and I hope final, shooter.

Abdullah bin Allad stays in character, does not show his ingrained offense that he is being spoken to by a mere woman. He asks, "Who are you?"

"Kordeski sent me," purrs Steph.

Kordeski is a co-conspirator working a cell in relatively nearby Vancouver.

"Kordeski trained you?" asks bin Allad.

Steph sucks up the shooter, nods."Yeah."

"_I_ trained Kordeski," brags the mark.

"I hope you did a good job," Steph tells him. "Anyways...he sent me to tell you that the uh, groceries you requested..." Guns, she means—"...are in a van in the lot outside. I drove them over the border myself, like a good soccer mom, ya know? " Sweet smile. "Special delivery."

She stands up. "Let me show you." The men all get to their feet, but she shakes her head. "Just your boss, boys."

We'll go in after and pick up the militia guys.

Abdullah bin Allad follows her into the parking lot.

The rest is history.

_**the end, series tbc**_

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_*****after Nantucket refers to the short story** A Perfect Fourth of July**_

_**Thank you for reviewing! enjoy!**_


	13. Chapter 13 Endless Supply

**New Anthony oneshot on blog tonight [7.27.12], link is in my profile. enjoy.**

**A Random Life**

.

**Chapter 13 - ****An Endless Supply of….**

***[The words **in bold black are Ranger speaking**, just in case it 's hard to follow]***

_During Fifteen*: _

Phone rings in Big Al's Bodyshop:

"Yo."

"**Yo."**

"Wassup?"

"**Nada, you?"**

"Not much."

**Silence.**

Finally Big Al says, "So, my man, wha' s this about?"

"**I got a flatbed delivering a couple new Cayennes to you today. Put on the usual stuff, okay. Rush job, STAT."**

"Sure. Ah—a couple...two?"

"**Three."**

Al says, "We's armoring and bulletproof-glassing THREE new Cayennes, boss?"

"**Yeah. Don't forget the gunsafe in the back cargo hold and the lockbox under the front seat."**

Silence, this time from Al, who is somewhat offended. Then, "How many cars I fix fo' you, boy? How many in yo' lifetime, hunh?"

Ranger sighs audibly. "**Yeah, okay. I just want to be ready."**

"How come? You worried or something?"

"**It's just a feeling I have. Don't ask."**

Big Al says, "Ouch. When you get those feelings, insurance companies start to go bankrupt."

"**Yeah. Steph's driving my cars this week."**

"I'm on it."

They both disconnect.

Ranger, in his office, takes two more Advils. Big Al at the chop shop sits behind his desk that's piled high with car parts catalogs and miscellaneous greasy auto tools. And he laughs his ass off.

**the end, series tbc**

*** **15 is the book where Stephanie keeps destroying Ranger's Cayennes at 150 k a pop.


	14. Chapter 14 Smoke Signals

**A Random Life**

**.**

**a**/n This is a set during FLF, Ranger's POV during the scene where Lula's Firebird and one of Ranger's Cayennes are blown up and burn. Some of the dialog is taken from the orig. hardcover book, pgs 236-239. This is a What Should have Happened story, bec of course in my world things are—well, different. It takes place shortly after AL and Ranger's conversation in my short: _An Endless Supply of…._which is chapter 13, here. Standard fanfic disclaimers apply.

_**14 - Smoke Signals**_

_** —**_

**It's like smoke signals:** The plume of black cloud hovering over the outskirts of Trenton practically screams _Porsche on fire…na na na naaah!_

And I am hearing that old Queen song, _Another One Bites the Dus_t, in my head…._I should have it on a replay loop,_ I think.

Three minutes earlier I got a call from the control room. Brett said hesitantly, "Boss, ah—your new Cayenne…"

I had sighed. "Just send me the GPS readout."

"Yes sir. But, um, it is Ms Plum's address." _Of course it is._

Now I park my Turbo (_it's okay, baby, you're safe…_I lie to my cars, so sue me) on the street outside Stephanie's parking lot and make my way over to the fire that used to be my brand-new/ _maybe_ has 30 miles on the odometer/ less than a day old/ Porsche Cayenne.

I take in the scene: The girls are off to my left by the dumpster, watching the flames. Lula is slumped on the ground in a witless heap, she actually looks pale, perhaps is in shock. Steph stands bedside Lula, shoulders set and rigid, hands clenched at her sides. She is of course even paler, actually dead white with huge frightened eyes.

I can tell by her stance that she is striving for pissed off instead of scared shitless. Not sure she is succeeding. As usual Steph senses my presence—or subconsciously heard the Turbo's distinctive high performance engine, her ESP is for shit—and she turns to look for me. I take a few big strides and pull her into my arms.

I am pretty sure she is upset not injured but I try to look at her arms and back as I cuddle her into my chest. Her hair smells like strawberries, not scorch so I am hopeful.

We stand there a long time listening to the fire trucks and police vehicles' sirens. I am so happy to be holding her, it's worth the loss of the car—I don't insure my personal cars for collision or theft or damages anymore anyway, I just replace them out of pocket. To me it's no big deal, and I make some light remark about it being a record, she destroyed the car in less than twenty-four hours, perhaps her personal best. I am smiling inside but she pulls away and says, "I'm sorry, I am so sorry-—" and she bursts into tears, poor baby.

I say, "Babe, it's just a car."

"It's not just a car, it's me," she wails. "I'm a mess."

Well, sort of—her hair is crazy and her face is splotchy but to my eyes there is no woman more beautiful. And that's not what she means anyway. I don't want her to be upset and depressed over my stupid car so I tease, "You're not a mess. You just have a knack for getting in trouble." I add, "You're just having one of those emotional girl moments."

I watch in glee as the tears stop and she glares at me. She isn't packing her little S&W so she punches me instead. I can tell it hurts her fist more than it hurts me and she grunts, still glaring.

I say, "Feel better now?

"Maybe. Yeah, sort of…"

I smile at her and she looks a little dazed, her eyes lingering on my face, my eyes and then my mouth_. I still got it_, I tell myself, glad that she is no longer sobbing.

Stephanie says, "But how come you always turn up like you do? _You_ seem to have a knack for saving my life. Sometimes I wonder if I have a superhero stalker."

"I was in the neighborhood. And if I was stalking you, you'd _know,_ babe. Because I would definitely catch you."

Stephanie stares at me with big blue eyes, big _interested, considering_ blue eyes. The moment drags out and then she leans into me—just fraction closer. My hands had been lightly holding her hips while we talked but now I slid them around her again, down her back to her ass. I pull her close and brush my mouth over hers. Her lips part but I don't deepen the kiss, I just press her soft body in my hardness, watching her expressive eyes. I say, "Cops, fire department and probably Morelli are maybe thirty seconds out, babe. What do you want to do?"

"Is Lula okay?" she whispers. I look at Lula who is more focused by now. Lula gives me a sharp nod and mouths _Go!_ She flicks her killer two inch red nails at us, in a shooing gesture. Then she winks at me.

I say, "She's good, babe." And again, "What do you want to do?"

Steph actually rubs tighter into me and she says, "Can we go home?"

"To Haywood?" I ask carefully.

"Is that home?" Her eyes study my face.

I say, with total truth, "It is for now."

"Then yes. Please, Ranger. Haywood."

We smile at each other and I grab her hand, I pull her out to the Turbo. Ramon, in a black Rangeman Explorer, waves and smiles at us. _Geez, everyone has their 2 cents to add to my love life._ I nod to him, jerk my head at the oncoming officials and he gives me a thumbs up so I know he'll handle TFD and TPD and even Morelli if need be.

And we go home.

**hea of course…series tbc. **


	15. Chapter 15 Deja Vu All Over Again

**There's a new Anthony one-shot on my blog tonight..and a new photo! Enjoy! [8.4.12]**

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**A Random Life**

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LOL I couldn't resist posting this right away. It makes me laugh, hope you enjoy it too...This fic follows _Endless Supply_ and _Smoke Signals_. The **repetition** from the previous chapter/story **is deliberate. That's why it is called 'Deja Vu etc'**...a little poke at JE's habit of copying and pasting and revisiting scenes. Enjoy!

* * *

**15 - Déjà Vu All Over Again**

**.**

_Ranger_

**The plume of black cloud hovering over the outskirts of Trenton** practically screams _Porsche on fire…._ And I am hearing that old Queen song, _Another One Bites the Dus_t, in my head…._I should have it on a replay loop,_ I think.

A _Groundhog Day_ feeling of deja vu sweeps over me.

But then I reassure myself that Stephanie is not driving any of my cars today, that she is safely in the care of my good buddy Anthony Stewart. The light turns green, I shift the Turbo into second, then third, heading for the expressway and the private airport where my Rangeman BellJet helicopter is_**—**_what, parked? stabled? Stored. Whatever.

Before I can work my way through all eight of the high performance Porsche's gears, up to highway cruising speed, my dashboard Bluetooth cellular phone says, "Incoming." I had Al fix the phone set-ups so they just say _Incoming_ not _Incoming Call._ Stephanie wants the units to play ringtones, but so far we have, I believe, convinced her that the technology does not yet exist.

Anyway, right now, it's Brett in the control room. He says hesitantly, "Boss, ah_**—**_your .…um, we just lost the tracking signal for Mr. Stewart's Jeep."

"His jeep?"

'Yes, the signal showed his vehicle as his Jeep not the Ferrari. I checked the garage feed and it is a red soft-top, no roof with NYS license that says YUMMY 1."

I sigh. "I _know._ Just send me the GPS readout."

"Yes sir. But, um, it is Ms Plum's address." _Of course it is._

Now I park my Turbo (_it's okay, baby, you're safe…_I lie to my cars, so sue me) on the street outside Stephanie's parking lot and stroll out into the fray.

… … …

**When I sat down for breakfast earlier this morning **Steph greeted me with a smile, a kiss and the intell that she had a line on her biggest, baddest skip_**—**_one of her Burg snitches had phoned her while I was in the shower. She aimed her pretty blue stare at me and asked me to ride along.

Stalling I asked, "Who's the skip?"

"Bernie Henkel…," she read from her open file next to her plate. "Um. Armed robbery, unlicensed handgun, grand theft auto." She glanced over at me. "Story is, Bernie tried to rob his own family's Italian deli in the Burg!"

I said, "Henkel doesn't sound like an Italian surname."

"I went to school with his sister. His mama is Rosalie Mangafusco, the Mangafusco family is famous for their deli food…So anyway_**—**_when his mom yelled at him and refused to open the cash register, he pulled a gun on her. She threw a pan of hot sausages and peppers at him, knocked the gun out of his hand, so he grabbed a bunch of three-salami heroes…."

"What's a three-salami hero?" It sounded, well_**—**_

"Ranger! Pay attention! Um, well, soppesetta, Genoa, and regular hard_**—**_. Maybe some pepperoni? Provolone, tomatoes, some Italian dressing. You know_**—**_lettuce?"

"Okay, go on." I was still picturing some action hero guy with, ah, three salamis.

"And so Bernie ran out, jumped into the closest car at the curb. It just happened to be the deli's catering van, keys were in it, he took off. Arrested at the CVS on Broad Street, buying an extra-large bottle of Rolaids. I guess he ate all the sandwiches…."

"And the mother probably posted bail."

"Yes! His mom had him arrested, but then she posted bail. Put the deli up as bond, can you believe it!"

"And the rest is history," I said.

"Yeah, he skipped. That's pretty bad stuff, Ranger. Boys from the Burg do not threaten their mamas and get away with it!"

_Vinnie was a dead man._ I said, "Lotta places where robbing a family member at gunpoint is not too cool, babe. He sounds desperate—or crazy, or both. He had a gun and was willing to use it. You need to be careful."

I _didn't_ say, _This skip is out of your comfort zone. And out of mine…._No way was I gonna follow in the footsteps of Joe Morelli's mistakes.

"That's why I asked you to ride shotgun, Ranger."

"Babe, I have a meeting that I can't miss this morning. Can it wait til this evening?"

"No! I need the money this morning, it's the first day of Macy's blowout designer shoe sale and I plan to be there when the store opens at 10." Her pretty face looked determined.

Yet another mine field in the path of life with Stephanie Plum. I couldn't say _Buy what you want, charge it to me._ Or: _Here's a shitload of cash__**—**_get what you want, babe, but just stay safe. Or better yet, _Please skip the sales, I'll take you to NYC and you can buy whatever designer shoes and shit from the designers themselves, I don't mind paying retail if you're safe_.

No, Steph paid her own way, _in_ her own way and I knew better than to argue about her rules, rules that ran along the lines of: It is okay to accept food, shelter, phones, bodyguards, weapons and luxury vehicles from her boyfriend/ fiancé; it is _not_ okay for him to buy her Victoria's Secret undies or her shoes. Those are her rules and I have to live by them, see the above Morelli/mistake comment if this needs clarification, okay?

At my silence Steph's eyes narrowed and she said, "I thought we were partners!"

I reached out and took her hand that was, today, this morning, wearing the diamond engagement ring and eternity ring I gave her six months ago. I pressed a kiss into her palm, touched the rings with my thumb and said, "I'd like us to be more than just partners, Stephanie."

"Well sure, we're lovers too, right? Aren't we?"

I considered sighing. (or tearing my hair...) "That's not what I meant, babe…."

"I know, Ranger, it's just, well—maybe. Someday?"

"Yeah...Look, Steph, you must know I'd rather be on the street grabbing the skip with you, but I have a meeting with…ah…."

I had to be in DC by noon. Even I couldn't tell the President that Steph's shoes came before national security issues. But….

Bang on the door, then the locks tumbled. I said, "Looks like we have guests for breakfast, babe."

We heard, "Yoohooo! Dudes and dudettes, the waves were like so amazing so awesome, Hurricane Betsy, wow! Far out, Reeeeally, like wow. Far fucking out." And my friend and covert brother Anthony Stewart strolled in. I knew it was him, who else besides him_**—**_and myself_**—**_could pick my locks so easily?

"I hope you have, like, lotta food. I am starving. Hey, babe! Carlito." Anthony bent down to give Steph a kiss and he stretched out a hand to bump fists with me.

Stephanie jumped up and hugged him tightly. He took full enjoyment in the moment , grinning at me over her shoulder.

She said, "Sit down and I'll call Ella for more food! What would you like?"

I pushed my untouched plate across to him as he took a seat, said, "Start with this, I have to go," pitching my voice above Anthony's running a list of _baconeggshomefriesblueberryp ancakes and…_, I said, "I'm sorry, babe. Take a couple of the guys…."

"But…."

"We'll talk about it tonight."

"Wait! Maybe…." I turned back to see her staring at Anthony, her eyes taking in his disheveled appearance. Steph said sternly, "Who or what was Hurricane Betsy? Were you with a—woman?!"

"Tropical storm, babe. Don't you like listen to the Weather Channel? It hit the coast down in Delaware, man, the waves were awesome. Twenty foot pipes, I swear to God, amazing. And besides why can't I be with a woman, geez, Steph."

Anthony was dressed in navy and white flowered board shorts with an orange green and yellow pineapples-and-hula girls Hawaiian shirt hanging open over a possibly once-white wife beater and his weapons. His dreadlocks were salt-matted and he needed a shave worse than he usually did. He looked like a colorblind derelict, but with all his muscles and his sunburned tan and killer smile, I suspected that Stephanie thought he looked really hot.

_It's blue._

_What is?_

_My t-shirt, bro, I wouldn't wear, like a grungy white rag._

_That is not blue._

_Used to be, hermano, used to be._

_Loser._

Steph interrupted our moment. "So—I need some help picking up a skip this morning. Then I am going shoe shopping. If I feed you and give you a shower and some dry clothes, are you up for it?"

Antonio looked at me and I nodded agreement or permission. Anthony said to Steph, "Sure. No problemo," and thought at me, _You're gonna owe me, bro._

"Good!" Steph grabbed his hand and pulled him to his feet. "While Ranger calls Ella for your food, let's go look in Ranger's closet to see what will fit you. Will you need to borrow some weapons too….?" She dragged him grinning off to the bedroom, pushed him into the dressing room and peeked back out at me. She blew me a kiss and said, "Have a great day, Ranger. Don't get shot!"

"Don't get crazy," I mumbled, walking to the elevator, cell call to Ella at my ear. No real qualms about Steph and Anthony and a bedroom, alone.…no. No worries….

… … …

**Now I park at the curb** and saunter into Stephanie's parking lot. Why she insists on keeping this deathtrap of an apartment, I have no clue. But again, I know better than to ask, or worse, make demands.

Quite the tableau greets me—Anthony neatly dressed in Rangeman black fatigues stands with Steph behind him, her arms wound consolingly around his waist. Bernie Henkel, the FTA, is slumped on the ground near the dumpster, wrist cuffed to its side hook, eyes blackened, nose bloody. He is awake and cursing so I guess he isn't dead. Yet. I walk over and stand by Anthony. We all watch his beloved once-red Jeep Wrangler c. 1998 burn merrily in the morning sun.

Antonio says, "Thought you went to DC, man."

Steph says, "DC?"

"Ooops."

I say, "I was on my way to the airport when I got the call." I look from Anthony to the skip and back, shaking my head in mock disapproval, I say, "_Nice_, man. Very smooth. You're a credit to Rangeman." Jerking my head at the skip.

Anthony says, "He was supposed to be unarmed."

"Uh huh."

"But no-o-o-o…look at this shit: single shot through the engine block."

"Shit, that's a shame. That was a nice jeep," I commiserate, desperately trying not to laugh.

"Nice jeep!? Man, I got that Jeep for my 16th birthday, it was a frickin' heirloom. I LOVED that car."

"Yeah, I know. Too bad….Looks like all your surfboards blew up too."

"Aaaaargh!"

"Ranger…?" Steph says.

"Yeah, babe?"

"If you call some of your guys they could take Henkel to the station and Anthony and I could go shopping." She pokes Anthony in the chest. "—you still owe me an afternoon at Macy's shoe sale."

"But…"

"But…"

"Yes, Ranger?"

"Babe, you have no car."

Stephanie twitches the Turbo keys from my hand. "We do now!" She grabs Anthony's hand and hauls him off to—my car. _My car!_

"Later, _hermano_…."

I watch them pile into my beloved Turbo. I whisper uselessly, _But—I promised._

I sigh and dial Tank, "I need a lift, man."

"Ten four, boss. See you in ten."

**the end, series tbc**

**Thanks for reviewing! **Don't forget to go read Anthony's new story too, okay?


	16. Chapter 16 The Little Plaid Skirt

**A Random Life**

**.**

**WARNING: RATED M, adult content and bad taste, innuendo more than graphic smut. **

**Everyone is OOC! **Takes place about book 4?

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**16 - The Tartan Skirt**_** —**_

**My apartment door opened** and closed, almost silently but I heard, _something..._

I opened the bathroom door a little wider and yelled, "I'll be right there!"

I swiped on another coat of mascara and peeked around the door jamb, down the hall, into the living room.

Oh. Hal.

Hal stood at parade rest in the archway between my living room, and the entry hall—exactly where that asshole Scrog will shoot Ranger in a year or two.

Making sure my underwear-clad body iwa hidden by the door, I said, "Hi, Hal, have a seat, have a beer. I'll be ready soon."

"Um, uh. Thanks, Ms Plum. No beer though, I'm on duty."

_Oh fer chrissakes. _"It's Stephanie, Hal, remember?"

"Yessir, Ms Plum. Stephanie."

I left the bathroom door open and went back to work on my hair. I yelled, "Where's Ranger?"

"He's setting up on site, Ms Plum. He'll be bartending at the place where you're to seduce—I mean, uh, _distract,_ the skip."

"Oh. Okay." Too bad. Ranger putting the tiny wire and mic in my bra or panties was usually the highlight of my sex life these days. Joe and I called it quits a few months ago, but Ranger...well, he seems more gentleman than opportunist these days—Mr. Darcy, not Captain Jack Sparrow, if you know what I'm saying?—and my bed was freakin' cold and boring. And now he was even depriving me of the pleasure of having him cop a little feel in the name of business? That sucks, right?

But I needed the money from my cut of the bond, so I remained resolutely professional. Sort of...

I slipped on my short robe and went into my bedroom to choose a distraction outfit. Something to entice the lowlife skip...and maybe make Mr. Carlos Manoso wake up and take a better look at little old me.

Aha! Peeeerrfect. And..._this._ And this, and these, uh huh. Spritz of perfume and I sauntered out to greet Hal in person.

Hal stood up fast and said, "Holy shit."

I twirled. "You like?"

"Ms Plum, you look like every parochial schoolboy's wet dream. Begging your pardon, Miss Plum, but..."

Hal shifted uncomfortably and I made a point of not looking below his belt, just in case any tenting action was going on in his black cargos.

I said, "Well, Ranger said the skip is a perv. I figure this will be perfect. He won't be interested in a grownup woman."

"You look sort of grown up, Ms Plum. Mature...uh... Developed, um...ah..."

Poor Hal was beet red.

The skip that Rangeman was going after tonight was an accused molester of preteen girls. He'd jumped bail—and who could blame him? His future was looking very dim, nothing lower than a child molester, not even in prison.

Now I asked Hal, "Should you help me get wired?"

He held out the tiny pieces of surveillance equipment and waved his hands helplessly.

_Guess my outfit is a success so far._

I was wearing a red plaid tartan micro-mini skirt that barely covered my ass. With it I wore a frilly black lace and leather bustier-corset thing, thigh-high white lace stockings and black patent FMPs that were styled like little girls' maryjanes with 4 1/2" do-me heels and dainty ankle straps.

I looked like a Catholic schoolgirl gone bad. Real bad. Hee hee hee.

I grabbed the mic and wire and told Hal I'd take care of it myself. Five minutes later, Hal bundled me into his black XXXL Rangeman hoodie and hustled me into his Rangeman Explorer. His hands were shaking so bad he could hardly get the key in the ignition.

"Want me to drive, Hal?"

"No!"

... ... ...

_Ranger_

**Tank's voice came clearly over my ear bud.** I was standing behind the bar at Moose's Bar and Grill, pulling Buds and mixing a few pastel martinis and Cosmos. Friday afternoon, the TGIF crowd was just beginning to roll in. Along with our pervert skip, who was sitting by himself at a booth in the back. This was his neighborhood bar and he was too stupid to stay home and drink his Bud Lite in private.

Now Tank said, "Ms Plum is on deck, boss."

"10-4," I mumbled back, and took a ten from a guy with bad hair and tired eyes.

His eyes went past me to the mirror behind me as a hush briefly fell over the bar.

I didn't have to ask, though. I could hardly believe my eyes. Was I losing touch with reality or was that actually Stephanie, _my_ Stephanie, dressed up like the lead in _Naughty Schoolgirls Get Nasty / Part 2: Spank Me, Father O'Kelly, I've Been Bad!_

Conversations resumed as she sat at a stool at my bar. She hiked herself into position, flashing us all with white school girl underpants as she crossed her long silky legs. She leaned in to order, I leaned in to hear her breathy words. "Sex on a Stick, please. With a cherry and an extra straw?" She popped her chewing gum, blew a pink bubblegum bubble through pouty red, red shiny lips.

I whispered, "Do you have a gun in there somewhere, babe?"

"Gun? Nope, no gun," she blushed, stammered. Whispered, "No place to put it, boss."

_Maybe I need to teach her how to use a more easily concealed weapon, like a knife..._

I gave her an iced tea with the straws and the cherry, discreetly pointed at the skip while I make change from the fifty she gave me.

Steph licked her lips, gave me a smile and wandered over to the perv. "Hi, you have the only extra seat in the house, mister. Can I share?"

She cocked her hip in the tiny skirt right in front of his face. Probably he could see the white panties and my blood boiled. The guy was so jazzed by her get-up that he didn't realize the bar was two-thirds deserted.

Five minutes later she walked him out the door, into the parking lot. Right into the arms of vice cop Joe Morelli, who had appeared because someone called in a hooker complaint.

"Cupcake! What the fuck are you doing! Is this a porno Halloween costume or what? I should arrest you! What the fuck was Manoso thinking?" He was screaming, a Maalox classic moment.

I walked up behind Steph and wrapped my white bartender's shirt around her, covering at least part of her get-up. And I kept my arms around her, lending my support as she reeled from Joe's onslaught. Sure, the cop had a point, but typically Steph, she had intuited exactly what was needed and hadn't hesitated to do what she had to do to get her man. My skip, I mean.

Finally I said, "Morelli, back off. Jackson Garvins is back in custody, thanks to Steph's work tonight. Let's let it drop. Now."

Morelli shut up, slapped his notebook closed and strode away to his POS Crown Vic. Morelli is an ass but he's not stupid.

We watched the Crown Vic drive into the night, followed by Tank and Hal and the pervert in Hal's black Explorer.

When we were alone I turned Stephanie to face me.

I said, mock-sternly, "We have a dress code, Stephanie. What is the meaning of this?" I waved my hand at her XXX-rated schoolgirl's clothes.

"Eeep! Er, um...it's black?"

"That skirt is NOT black. And it does not cover your ass." I ran a hot hand up the back of her bare thigh, from the lacy tops of the stockings to her ass in the white panties. I gave her a caressing squeeze, and she gasped. "And you did not bring your gun."

"But, I..." she stammered.

"You know there are going to be consequences, right? "

A hesitant nod.

My free hand brushed across the nipples barely concealed by the black leather top she wore. "This behavior, this disregard for the rules—this blatant disrespect, must be punished severely. Do you understand, Stephanie?"

"Yes," she quavered, shimmying her butt to move my lower hand somewhere more—interesting. My fingers slipped under the elastic edge of the white cotton panties, slid into a warm, wet softness.

I growled, "Yes, what?"

"Yessir?"

I stepped back and pointed to my Porsche."Get in the car. We will continue this in private."

She mumbled something, tried to hide her glee. " 'Bout fucking time, Ranger."

"I heard that."

"So?" She swung her hips and flashed me again, got into the car.

"You'll pay for your impertinence," I warned, keeping in character.

Steph ran her hand up my thigh and squeezed. "Goody."

**the end, series tbc**

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**Thank you for reviewing! sunny**


	17. Chapter 17 Not French

**A Random Life**

.

a/n: Since Naughty Stephanie was a big hit last week, I brought her back! She is VERY AU.

**Mercenary Ranger** meets AU Stephanie Plum in the elevator scene from HOT SIX. [one of my all-time fav Ranger scenes...but I still had to mess with it.] Involves film quote, I forget where...

enjoy!

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_**Not French**_

_**.**_

_Ranger_

**The steel doors of the rickety old elevator** wobbled open on the second floor. I stared—even I can be surprised by the coincidental actions of fate.

In front to me stood a sleepy-eyed woman in sweat pants, ratty old Vans and the butt-ugliest green plaid flannel nightshirt on the planet. Hair so wild and scary it should be illegal. Sky blue eyes that widened when she saw me, kissable rosebud mouth that dropped open in surprise. I said, "Get in."

She stood and stared. I reached out, grabbed her arm and pulled her into the elevator. _Was she surprised to see me or just surprised to find me in the elevator?_

When the elevator doors closed and we moved a little I punched the stop button. Claustrophobic but a necessity as her apartment lately was full of grandmas and stoner guys and cops. I was in the middle of a highly paid joint op for ATF (Alcohol Tobacco & Firearms, an agency similar to DEA) and Treasury. I was looking into the sudden increase in contraband weapons shipping through eastern New Jersey. While I was pretty sure my dad's old friend (and fellow CIA undercover operative) Alexander Ramos wasn't part of the deals, his low-life sons were a different matter. Ramos knew it, knew he was getting old, knew he needed my help to prevent him ending his days in a federal prison. So I took the contract with the feds. My cover was that I was wanted for murder; however every cop and federal agent in Jersey knew that was a con, a cover. I'd been driving around in my own black Mercedes with no problem, intent on the job.

Then I got the call from the girl standing in front of me: "Ranger?" —so sweet— "Are you okay?" She was worried. This sweet clueless young woman was _worried _about badass me. I was actually touched, no one has worried about me, best I can figure, since I was maybe six. Okay—five...

I'm a very tough guy. My name is...ah...Carlos Manoso. You can call me Ranger.

Now Stephanie looks me over and says, "Wow. You look different."

I had my hair cut very short and I was wearing jeans, t-shirt and a leather jacket.

"This is my disguise." I'm not sure but she seems to like what she sees. A lot. I watch the tip of her tongue trace her pouty upper lip. I add, "We need to talk."

We chat for a few minutes, her eyes intent, evaluating. Watching me. She readily agrees to help me though and I promise to stay in contact.

Just as I press the buttons to free us from our little intimate tete-a-tete, the lights flicker and go off. Total silence. I curse the jeans I'm wearing instead of my well-equipped cargoes: no flashlight, no tools. Stephanie's car keys jingle and a little light flicks on. I am amazed. She was organized enough to have a tiny but intense Maglite on the keyring.

_Good job, babe,_ I think. Then, _Oh wait, she was driving __my__ car; those are __my __keys, __my Maglite__._ Oh well.

I say, "It's okay. Everything is fine, babe."

Obviously she doesn't agree because she leans over the control panel and says, "Good one, Ranger. You must have shorted out the whole building with your brilliant ideas. You just had to get cute and stall us here. To be—_private_," she scoffs.

"Babe."

Eyeroll. Barely visible with the little light.

I say, "The fire department will come soon. Or the cops."

"And then they're gonna arrest your ass, aren't they?"

_Well no, but..._

I shrug. She must feel the motion because it's too dark to see me.

"It will be fine, babe," I repeat.

She sinks down onto the ancient dirty carpet, folds her legs tailor fashion. I slide down the wall and sit next to her. She rummages in her bag. I ask, "Do you have your cell phone?"

"No! I was just going for donuts! And I can't afford the service, it doesn't work." More rummaging. "...I do have a an old Hersey bar." She offers me a bite and I shake my head no. "And, um, a deck of cards...we can play gin rummy."

"Or poker."

"Sure. And whoever wins can be in charge of getting us the hell out of here."

_Hmmmm. _I say calmly, "Better save the light, we may be here awhile."

Elevator goes dark. Quavery sigh from Steph. I put my arm around her and say, "Don't be scared."

She giggles crazily. "I am so NOT scared, I'm just, um—intrigued."

"By?"

Her hand fumbles around in the dark, finds and explores my chest and abs. She sighs, "So—hard."

"Steph..."

"And you smell delicious..."

Her cool hand slides under the thin Henley and finds my nipples, traces a path towards my belt.

I catch her hands but she shifts onto her knees and I feel the brush of her hair on my face, then her tongue tracing my mouth. I groan and let her kiss me.

"Did you say strip poker, Ranger?"

"Uh..."

Her hands on my belt buckle, then unzipping my jeans. _Touch me, hold me._ She whispers again, "So hard," adds, "So—_big..._." Movement across my legs, sound of clothes being pulled aside. She settles onto my lap.

I try to pull away. "What if the doors suddenly open?"

"Then you better work fast." She settles her hot wetness sloooowly onto me, into her. We both gasp, kiss with mouths open. I wind my fist in her hair and force her head back, suckling on her exposed throat, marking her.

She gasps, whispers, "Sit back. I'll do it all..."

I thought this girl was so shy. So unassuming, so—_intimidated _by me?

"Babe..."

"Are you having fun yet, Ranger?"

"Oh yeah."

...

_later..._

**We've caught our breath and my world **has stopped spinning out of control. Or started spinning again. I am dazed but I am careful not to show it. We rearrange our clothes. I say, "That was unexpected, babe."

Sexy laugh. "Oh admit it, you've been wanting that for a year or so, maybe longer."

"Yes but I thought..."

"You think too much, Ranger."

"Maybe..." I allow agreeably.

The elevator car gives a sudden sharp lurch and drops a few feet. Steph, trying hard to be brave, jokes, "Okay, it was great, you're real good. But I didn't expect the floor to drop out of my world. So to speak."

"It's not me, it's this shit elevator, Steph."

She huffs in annoyance. "So why don't you do your superhero thing and think about a way to get us out of here?"

_The afterglow has gone. _

I stand up. She hands me her itty bitty Maglite and I pop the hatch in the ceiling, pull myself up and look around. "We will have to climb up the cable." The cable creaks ominously. _"Now."_

"No!"

"Yes."

"No. No way."

"Why not?"

"I , I can't."

"Give me one good reason. And _don't _say you'll ruin your manicure, that's not an option."

"There is a whole—_plethora!—_of reasons I won't shinny up that cable, hotshot!"

_She sounds like Daffy Duck with a Word-a-Day calendar vocabulary._ I bite my lip to keep from laughing and say sternly, "You will."

"I _won't_."

"You _will_ climb out of here and up that fucking cable, babe. Even if I have to drag you out by your hair. Or kick you out by your ass."

The cable creaks louder and the car wobbles.

Steph stamps her foot. "Barbarian! Creep! Jerk— Neanderthal. Asshole. Just like all men! Typical. Got fucked, can't get your own way, gonna use brute force. Huh! Read my lips. No. Effin. Way!"

Exasperated, and possibly close to death in this little metal box, I say very quietly, "Listen to me! We are not barbarians! We are not Neanderthals and we are NOT FRENCH!"

Silence. Cable creaking.

Stephanie finally says, "Excuse me? Did I fuck your brains out, handsome?"

I sigh. "It's a quote, we use—_used—_it a lot in the—ah, military."

"Uh huh."

The car drops again and there is a shriek of rending metal.

Steph says, "Maybe the fire department will show up after all."

_Perfect. Fuck._ I say, "Ok, I don't give a shit. Stay here and get butt-fucked by twelve Neanderthals in firemen's suits."

_Bitch, _I think_. _I haul myself back up onto the roof of the elevator.

I hear her mumble, "Butt fucked? Hmmmm..." Sounds intrigued. Then, "Wait! You're just gonna leave me here?"

"Oh yeah." And to think I was so deluded I thought Stephanie Plum was such a sweet, innocent little white girl. _Bitch_, I repeat under my breath.

She yells, "Nooooo!" and suddenly the lights flicker back on and the elevator motor can be heard, gasping and wheezing but functioning. I drop back into the tiny space and we stare at each other.

Finally she smiles and says, "Donuts? Coffee?..._me_?" She presses 2 and the car moves.

She jumps out on the second floor and when I move to follow her she rams a stiff arm into my chest and says, "Ranger! Donuts! Coffee! Now! And be sure to buy a newspaper and six Mega Millionaire Lotto cards."

"Lotto cards?"

"Yeah, I'm broke."

"Anything else?" I enquire gravely.

Perky grin. "Condoms?"

"I'll be right back."

I get into my Porsche and think, _Okay not sweet. But—interesting?_

_**the end, series tbc**_

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_**Thank you for reviewing!**_

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_It could have happened that way! __If it had been me in the elevator, for example_...:-). And No! I know Stephanie isn't driving one of Ranger's cars in Hot Six, but I changed it. OK?


	18. Chapter 18 Bored

**A Random Life**

**.**

_**A/N**_ _**Merc Ranger**__ has another encounter with __**AU Steph**__...I think he likes her! Despite the reference to Book 10, this take place __**early **__in R & S's relationship, in my world._

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**A/N2:** This fic references British Special Forces groups known as SAS. Here is an excerpt from Wikipedia:

''The **Special Air Service** (**SAS**) is a special forces corps of the British Army. It has served as a model for the special forces of other nations...''

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_**18 - Bored**_

_**.**_

**"You wanna debrief** tonight, Ranger?"

We were in the garage at the new Rangeman building on Haywood Street. It was end of a long day, second day of what was shaping up to be a long two weeks running a training op for some SAS operators who needed to, ah, brush up on their skills. I had the feeling that it was more the idea that the Brits want to know just how Rangeman—and I—_operate,_ but my tame General got us into this job before I had a chance to play the top secret card and say no.

It wasn't that the Brits weren't good. It was that, number one: I don't have time to be a hitman, run a business, including an off-shore mercenary division, and perform black ops jobs _and_ this UC bounty hunter gig AND teach training sessions, so now I glance at Anthony and Tank and say, "Yeah, come up for a beer and we'll go over some stuff before tomorrow." They silently get on the elevator with me and I remote 7, then also push the regular button for 5, the comm room. I add, "Lester is just gonna give me a quick update too."

Lester Santos is covering the day to day running of Rangeman Trenton for the two weeks of this foray into cross-cultural higher ed. A couple seconds of tired silence pass, along with floors one, two, and three—then my staelth brother Anthony fills the void, says, "It went okay today, Rangeman."

Tank says, "Yeah, it was pretty good, boss. Look at it this way, Antonio didn't actually kill anyone...at least not yet."

"I never kill anyone!"

We gape at him in amazed disbelief and Lester gets in on the fifth floor.

Anthony huffs. "Well? What?"

Tank says, "You never kill anyone?"

"No! Like, not hardly, man. No, no way, like not like accidently, you know."

We stare at him.

"Ranger just totally figures I'm gonna snap some limey necks or shoot their asses during the live ammo shit...but hey! Like I said, I never kill anyone..."

Silence.

"For free. Or by accident...Reeeeally."

I refuse to engage and cut my eyes to Lester who says, "We picked up a few files for skips from Vinnie Plum." We walk towards my new apartment, Lester still talking.

Lester runs through the names of the skips, adds "There was also a file Connie had set aside for Stephanie Plum—this scumbag, Jimmy Malducci, a multiple felony arrest. But I told her you'd want to cover that FTA too, right?" I nod. "The guy is very violent, repeat offender. Apparently, he's got a record longer than my..."

We walk into my living room and there is Stephanie Plum herself, sitting on my sofa, waiting for me. She hears Lester's last words and gives him a wide eyed look. He falters, "As long as my—ah—hair? As long as my arm? Well, it's long. Long record! Long! Um..."

"Hi guys." She smiles at all of us, her eyes lingering on Tank then Anthony then back to me. Looks me up and down like I'm a case of chocolate-spice Tasty Cakes and she's having a sugar jones.

Tank says, "We'll talk on the road in the morning, boss." He and Lester fade away, the apartment door clicks shut. Anthony watches, shrugs, then heads into the kitchen, looking for our beers.

I stand over Stephanie and stare her down. In less than a minute she has sent my three toughest men into fast retreats. "What's up, babe?"

"God, I'm bored! That jerk Lester stole my only skip! You need to talk to him, Ranger. And I've been waiting for hours, could you possibly have a magazine here? Or god forbid, a book?" She pouts, looks hot.

I say, "You look bored." Not.

"I _am_ bored! But that can change..." She reaches out and runs a hand up my leg, exploring.

The second reason I'm not crazy about training the British Spec Ops guys is that they have—bad attitudes. And are set in their ways...Which is the reason I am dressed—we are all three of us dressed—in a black wifebeater and unlatched flak vest, black steel-toed work boots and grungy slouched socks—and short camouflage kilt. A _kilt_, for fuck's sake. These SAS troopers love their kilts, they revere their kilts, their kilts symbolize their effin' manhood or some shit. And I can't effectively train them unless I use the equipment and clothing that they will be using when deployed. Hence the kilt.

Not that I totally hate kilts, mind you! Just because a certain French fashion designer whose suits I sometimes wear has made kilts the emblem of flaming gayness—gaydom?...

"Gaiety?" Anthony says in my head.

I frown, I can tell he's on his second beer, but discreetly staying in the kitchen. But, so, okay, these army guys—I mean: SAS—no one is tougher—aren't wearing kilts for gay pride; or even because they are Scottish, which they are not. It is simply their uniform, their identity even. No, my objection to the kilts is technical. They are not very functional, no protection from the surrounding terrain, flora or fauna; no warmth, no waterproofing; and no pockets, nowhere to stash one's supplies—unlike all the pockets on the high tech combat cargos my own men wear.

And then there's the ass-in-the-breeze issue too.

I guess I should just be happy the skirts ("Kilts!"—Anthony yells subliminally) are a nice dirty brown-grey desert camo.

Meanwhile Steph's hand has passed my knee and is headed north. She says, "Should I be trite and ask what one wears under a kilt?"

"There are some things a woman has to find out for herself," I say, expecting her to blush and back off. But this is the new, bold, sexually liberated Stephanie Plum, the girl who nailed me in her elevator a month or so ago. Her hand continues, squeezes my ass.

She frowns, says, "Oh." She is pouting again.

"You don't like my ass, babe?"

"You're wearing boxer briefs. I thought you went commando..."

An urban myth that has grown up in Trenton and elsewhere because when Stephanie commandeered my apartment, this apartment!—during the Slayer mess, I had instructed Ella to remove all my personal items before Steph arrived to snoop. For some reason, Ella thought I meant my underwear, geez. Later Ella shook her finger at me and said, _Your underwears are the only personal thing I could find, boss! You don't own any personal items...remember?_ _And your guns do NOT count, m'hijo, no, they do not. _

Anyways...So, hell yes I'm wearing boxer briefs, no way is my ass waving in the breeze for all to admire.

I say, "What did you expect?"

"I was hoping—those black silk boxers?" Her fingers make little circles, like she is fingering the thin silk in her mind.

"I don't think so."

With calculated role reversal I kneel on the sofa, straddling her, my kilt shifting up my thighs. I brace my hands on the sofa back, looming over her; she tips back her head and smiles up at me. I lean in to kiss her, her hands on my ass again—both hands this time. Our lips meet and she gasps. I deepen the kiss. Her hands slowly explore.

Off to my right, Anthony says, "Here's your beer, bro." I look up and glare. If I had a pocket or a belt, I'd have my gun and I could shoot him. He grins and says, "I'll just leave it here on the table, dude... _Mañana, hermano!"_

He fake tiptoes out.

I turn back to Steph who is now craning sideways to watch my little brother leave. She says, "He looks really cute in a kilt too."

"Oh yeah?"

"Uh huh. Hot. But, um, Tank? I'm so not sure about Tank—and kilts."

"We'll worry about that another time, babe."

"Okay."

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**the end**

**PS no offense intended to kilt wearers either! Gay or not, SAS or not.**

**Thanks for reviewing!**


	19. Chapter 19 The Color Purple

**A Random Life**

a/n Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed Shrink Wrapped! And thanks to readers who visited my Mercenary Ranger blog.

This takes place realatively early in Ranger and Stephanie's relationship, like book 9 maybe? Even though later books are mentioned. They are friends who flirt, not lovers yet.

enjoy

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**19 - The Color Purple—**

_Stephanie _

I couldn't ask Morelli.

He'd say _Sure Cupcake, no problem._ Then when the time came he would absolutely positively _can't-get-out-of-it-honey_ have to work.

I set the inexpensive—but not cheap—bottle of champagne in my only mixing bowl, a plastic Tupperware thing Mom once used to send home leftover something. I set it in my sink and poured the bag of ice cubes around it.

Hmm. Not very classy. Or seductive. Best I could do though.

Since I wasn't dumb enough to depend on Morelli I had decided to ask Ranger.

I lugged the bowl and the bottle and the jelly jar glasses into the living room and dumped them on the third-hand coffee table.

Ten minutes later, I emerged from the bathroom, my eyelids heavy with yet another coat of defensive mascara. There was a knock on the door.

"You never knock."

"You never formally invite me over, babe."

"Oh."

I gestured at the sofa and followed Ranger into my living room.

"Wine?"

"Looks like champagne, babe. We celebrating?"

I fumbled around trying to get the foil and wire off the vintage-last week, $5.99 bottle of bubbly. In a blink, Ranger's hands brushed mine aside and he efficiently drew out the cork without a big bang or volcanic overflow.

I said, "Wow."

He poured for both of us, thankfully without seeming to read the label. I've had champagne with Ranger and his version runs to three figures at the checkout register. And comes from France, not Secaucus. He gently clinked his jar with mine and said, "_Salut'_."

"Yeah. _Salut'_. Cheers." Charm school grad, can you tell? Not.

We sat in silence for awhile. Ranger leaned back looking relaxed and predatory. He was waiting.

I caved.

"I need a favor."

The eyebrow twitch. "You don't have to ply me with wine to ask a favor, Steph. You ask for favors all the time. It's not a problem, babe.''

"Well..."

"Stephanie, what's going on?"

How anyone can convey a frown without wrinkling his forehead or clenching his brows is a mystery to me. Maybe that's why he looks so beautiful all the time?

"Steph?''

''Oh!'' I jerked back to the mission at hand. ''This is different. It's not just a gun or a car..."

His eyebrows did rise now, probably thinking about the time I wrecked two Porsche Cayennes in less than 6 hours, running his car bill that day to over a quarter mil.

"...Not that I don't appreciate the cars!" I added hastily. "It's just, _different."_

I stared down into the pee colored liquid in my jelly jar.

I didn't hear him move but seconds later Ranger's mouth brushed across my cheek, ended up with a sweet kiss below my ear. One hand slid into the hair at the nape of my neck and the other efficiently removed my glass from my limp hand and set both glasses on the coffee table. His lips brushing mine he said, "It's okay, babe. You don't have to spell it out. I told you I could help you with your, uh, cravings." His mouth fastened on mine, his tongue touched my lower lip and when I gasped he slipped into my mouth and and and and...

I jerked back. ''That is _not_ what I meant! Geez.''

''Figured you were off sugar, babe." The dark eyes swept over my middle to see if the little roll that appears now and then was in evidence. I sat up straight, sucked in my stomach. _If Ranger thinks I only want him when I am on a sugar break, he is even more delusional than I am!_

I managed to tell him, "I need you to help me with a project.''

Ranger took a gulp of champagne and sat back. "Go on."

"Okay, a few weeks ago at mom's big Friday dinner we were talking about DIY..."

?

"Do It Yourself? What planet were you raised on anyway, Ranger?"

_Planet Money._ "...Go on.''

''And I said I was a _great_ house painter.''

''Is this like the cello thing?''

I blushed. ''Sort of but how hard can it be?''

?

''So anyway it is Angie's birthday next week and they are spending a weekend at the shore, as part of her birthday celebration. She gets to bring a couple of her best girlfriends—and Valerie says the cottage even has an ocean view!"

''And.''

''So I asked Angie what she wanted for her birthday from me and...Well." I gestured to the Home Depot bag next to the Tupperware bowl full of ice and champagne bottle.

Ranger reached out and shoved the bag down.

"Babe."

"She wants her room painted. In a big girl color.''

Ranger leaned over to read the info scrawled by the paint mixing clerk. He read, "Benjamin Moore Paint semigloss _Royal Purple_? Probably a mistake."

"No, she showed me the color tag thing."

"I meant—aesthetically."

I shrugged. "Her choice. She's eleven. So anyway, I promised. And I have to redecorate too, just a little..." I pointed to the big BedBath&Beyond bags. A neon white faux sheepskin rug was spilling out the top, along with some sequin encrusted purple and pink throw pillows.

_Thai whorehouse..._mused Ranger silently.

To fill the dismayed silence coming from the other end of the couch, I babbled on, "And the cable guy is coming! He is installing broadband so that Angie can have a computer in her room, for schoolwork."

"Uh huh."

"That's if the cable guy shows up. You know how everyone _hates_ the cable guy!"

"Cable guy?" Ranger looked slightly pained and a little clueless. No cable guys in Ranger's world either, I guess. He asked, "What does this have to do with me?"

"Well, um, I need help. I probably can roll the paint onto the walls but I need someone to help me move the furniture and stuff and I was hoping you could find time on Saturday...?" I got it all out in one breath.

"Babe, why don't I send over Louis and Ella and a couple of the guys? They'll be fast and professional."

Ranger's men are _always_ fast and professional. No. matter. what.

"Less chance of disaster too," he added calmly. "And no cable guy necessary. Hector can do that too."

''No! _I_ have to do it. It's a promise. I never break a promise to the girls, it's a rule."

He looked at me. "Okay."

"Okay you'll help?''

''No. '_Okay, that's a good rule.'_''

''You should understand, you have a lot of rules, don't you? Food rules, clothes rules, relationship rules—CIA rules, covert ops rules?''

I never miss a chance to snoop. What if Ranger has a rule that he kills only bad people, but he doesn't do walls? Like a union rule? I asked, "The CIA does have rules?"

''Of course the CIA has rules. And the main one is that _you don't need to know._ Anything." He finished his champagne and stood up.

I trailed after him to the door and whined, "Their rules are way cooler than mine, right?"

''Babe. Forget the CIA, they're just another client covered by Rangeman's privacy policy. Not disappointing a little girl on her birthday, that's important." Did he look a little sad, just for a second? I couldn't believe he had ever disappointed his own little girl.

His ESP kicked in and he told me, ''I was deployed when she turned six."

"Oh."

Ranger leaned down and kissed my forehead. He hesitated, if that is possible, then also kissed my lips. Gentle, no tongue this time. But his body was hard and hot against me and...

"See you Saturday, babe.''

I mumbled, ''You'll help? Reeeeally?" But he was gone.

_**the end**_

_**but keep reading...**_

**PS** :

Ranger did show up as required.

However he brought Lester and made him paint the walls. Seems Lester proved to be a distraction and a slacker during his deployment for DIY in Scotland. That's another story.[soon?]

Ranger supervised though.

Lula and Tank came to help but the purple paint color made Lula crave grape popsicles and grape jelly PopTarts. She and Tank never returned from the Seven-11 that day.

The cable guy also showed up [six hours late] but he took one look at Hector and the teardrop tattoo...and fled.

Stephanie didn't understand Hector's pithy comment on the guy's retreat: _"Pendejo."*_

And Angie was thrilled.

Everyone lived HEA.

_pendejo= * 'idiot' _with hints of_ 'asshole'_

**more translations**:

when Ranger says Salut' [_salute_], he is using the comon Italian NY-NJ phrase, part of "salute, amore e denaro" [health, love, money], which Stephanie also uses/understands. If he softens the end of the word to Salu**d, **it is the Spanish toast "salud, amor y dinero" which has the same meaning...

Thank you for reviewing.


	20. Chapter 20 The Game

**A Random Life**

More Ranger than Stephanie this week...have to have a baseball story, of sorts! This takes place when R & S first get together. Morelli is here...safe for Cupcakes though. And of course he knows nothing of Ranger's past or real life….enjoy.

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**Chapter 20**

**_Trenton-The Baseball Game_**

**_._**

_Morelli POV_

The scoreboard said it all: **TPD 2 RM 14**

**The rivalry was always good-humored**, so we took the loss in stride. We had to, we _always_ lost. Ranger's guys were not cops softened by donuts and days sitting in patrol cars or behind desks. His men were young, aggressive, highly trained, like fine-honed athletes, and always at the top of their game. And probably Ranger would kill them or at least fire them, if they actually ever lost.

As we headed off the field, Carl Costanza, my old friend and long-time TPD cop said, "Damn! I forgot the radar gun, Joe."

"I'll go back for it," I said. We liked to use the traffic control radar gun to track the pitching speeds, just for fun.

I walked back to the dugout. Almost everyone had gone on to the after-game party. Only Steph and Tank still sat behind the backstop, off to the side.

Whooompppp!

A ball hit the net. I turned and saw that Ranger was back on the pitcher's mound and he had a pile of baseballs at his feet. He was unmistakable in his light-colored uniform pants and short-sleeved black Rangeman t-shirt, his big shoulders straining the thin fabric, his eyes intense beneath the black Rangeman ballcap. He had pitched the entire game with Tank or Ramon catching but now he was pitching to the backstop and I could see why. No way would Tank want to be out there catching the pitches that Ranger was throwing now.

He'd mostly shut out the cop team with decent pitches, some sliders, some curves, a few moderate fastballs. He allowed a few hits, a couple of runs. We could tell he was good—and we weren't surprised.

Well I _was_ surprised that Manoso had showed up for the annual TPD vs Rangeman game—he never had appeared before. We played the game for charity and funds to equip the PAL (Police Athletic Leagues) kids' teams and before today Manoso had simply sent a large check and his best players. Today he came, he pitched, and needless to say TPD lost the game big time.

But now Ranger was pitching with everything he had and to me, it looked major league. And I noticed again, with some surprise that he threw—and had batted—left-handed.

I flipped on the radar gun. Every pitch was 90 plus MPH. It was awesome.

He threw so hard that the balls rolled almost past him back to the mound. He gathered them up and continued throwing.

Whooomp. Whooomp.

Tank called, "That's thirty, Ranger."

Ranger stopped his windup and smiled. Almost coming out of a trance, it looked like. His focus while pitching had been incredible. But now he quit and calmly gathered up the equipment, bumped fists with Tank and hugged and kissed Steph. And I felt the usual pang in my heart, wrench in my gut at the sight of Stephanie and Ranger together. The three of them walked off the field together without seeing me in the shadows of the dugout steps.

I heard Tank say, "I have some ice packs in my car, you better ice your elbow, boss. What were you thinking! You already pitched nine innings."

Ranger said, "Glory days…."

And both men laughed.

…..

**Later at the barbeque, I sat down by Ranger**. Steph was off dancing with all the guys, I could hear her laughter above the music sometimes. I had a plate of potato salad and three hotdogs with _everything._ Ranger had a takeout plate from somewhere healthy and he was eating chopped tricolor salad and sliced grilled chicken. He looked at my plate with mild disgust.

"Someday you're gonna be sorry you eat that shit, Morelli."

I shrugged. "Maybe."

Nothing more from Ranger.

Finally I said, "You know, Ranger, I hear women talk about you all the time….like how hot you are and how come you're not a film star or a magazine cover model. Steph and Connie and Lula can go on for hours…."

Maybe a mild grimace flashed over Ranger's face.

I continued, "But I figure you like excitement, you like the adrenaline rush. So I can see why you maybe wouldn't want to be a movie star or a media star, a friggin' model—whatever. But I can't imagine why you are not pitching for the Majors. How is it possible that you throw a 90 MPH-plus fastball like you do and you are not a pro baseball player? I mean, that is every kid's dream right? Plus you'd be a multimillionaire!"

No response except an eye cut, brief stare.

"Oh yeah, I'm forgetting. You _are_ a millionaire, aren't you? All those cars, the business, the properties. But still…?"

Ranger went on eating in silence, his eyes blank and seeing nothing, everything.

After a very long while he said, "It was a decision made a long time ago in a world far, far away..."

His voice made it singsong, like a storybook beginning.

"…..when a kid chose to be a mercenary instead of a professional ball player. _Why?_ All these years later, you're gonna ask me why? Who the fuck knows, Joe." He gathered up the trash from his dinner and after tossing it into the trash barrel, he disappeared into the crowd, heading for Stephanie, no doubt.

**the end/ series tbc**


	21. Chapter 21 Secrets

**NOTE: There's a new Anthony One Shot up on my blog tonight, link is in my profile, enjoy. [10.12.12]**

**.**

* * *

**A Random Life **

AN- 11 on Top was one of my favorite books in the series. Here is the shower scene and the car conversation scene[s] from Ranger's POV. Quite a bit of the dialog is from the book. AU to my Take a Chance story line.

**Chapter 21** - **Secrets**

**.**

"And look at you, you have a deep dark secret."

I stared into Steph's blue eyes, my hands clenching on the collar of the bathrobe. I couldn't believe I told her that.

All these years undercover, black ops for Special Forces, assassin for the CIA, mercenary for hire to all thegovernment alphabet agencies. All these years of fighting the creepy feeling that I should pull out my wallet to see who I was this week, this year. The stack of passports locked in my gun safe—Ricardo Manoso. Carlos Manoso. Marc Pardo. Michael Rodriguez, Enrique Alvarez. Shit, one might even say Jason Bourne if he wasn't so relentlessly white bread.

_Oh right. That's just a movie, isn't it? And there's a new guy now..._

Stephanie makes me crazy. Look how I'd blown off an important client to come home and soothe her jelly donut—um—urges. Only to find Steph showering off yet another batch of noodles and fries. I hoped I wouldn'thave to have Louis come Roto-Rooter the drains. Again.

Now the silence had been too long.

I said, "Let it go."

_Yeah, right._

Stephanie said, "Are you sick?"

Her mind was an open book to me. Unfortunately it was a _mystery_ book. How could she possibly think I was sick, do I look sick? Would I have endangered her with unprotected sex that night…that night!—if I was sick?

Of course she did make me crazy.

I said, "No, I am not sick. Not physically, anyway. I'm not sure sometimes about the mental, emotional,and sexual."

_What the fuck am I babbling about now? _

Steph's hands that had been wrapped around my wrists slipped gently to my hands, loosening my death grip on the lapels of the robe. She took my hands and moved them to her breasts. I felt her nipples hard through the thick terry cloth. I could feel her heart beating fast, her breathing quickening. She smelled like my soap and fresh-scrubbed woman. Her hands touched me, my waist, my stomach, exploring the planes of my abs through my t-shirt. My belt buckle, my…..

It was reminiscent of that time so long ago at the bonds office. I had stopped her then—Vinnie had cameras, ick.

And I was in the middle of a highly paid joint op for ATF (Alcohol Tobacco & Firearms, an agency similar to DEA for guns, etc.) and Treasury. No time, no time. But now…

Stephanie said, "I can help you with that."

What could I say? She made me crazy, not stupid, but I said, "Is this the jelly donuts hormones talking, babe?"

"Do you care?"

"Yeah. I care."

"No, Ranger. This is me talking. Take it or leave it."

I kissed her and the afternoon spun into heaven.

…

_Later, in the Porsche, parked at Joe's house~_

I said, "Just for the record, if you were living with me….."

Stephanie rolled her eyes and huffed a little. _So cute._

She said, "_Just for the record_ I _will_ be living with you."

I said, "Someday."

"Yeah, right, Ranger. But someday is tomorrow."

She hopped out without waiting for my reply. No time for me to waffle or quibble or back out. I watched her run into Morelli's house for the last time. A huge smile spread across my face.

She makes me crazy. She is perfect.

the end/ series tbc


	22. Chapter 22 Your Lucky Day

**A Random Life**

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**.**

**Chapter 22 - 10.11.12**

**.**

**NYC, Times Square**

**The fifty foot JumboTron** TV screen flashed:

**10-11-12! **

**TODAY S **

**YOUR **

**LUCKY DAY!**

**-** interspersed with a montage of the happy couples being married here today.

* * *

_Hal POV_

**I stood in Times Square, NYC,** at parade rest, my eyes constantly scanning the crowds. In my peripheral vision I could see the huge TV screen, a brand new high def item that had replaced the previous enormous screen made famous for broadcasting the WTC attacks live.

9-11, 10-11-12. Hard to imagine eleven years have gone by now.

Rangeman was providing event security for the currently unfolding hotel promotion and group wedding. Ten couples. Getting married at 11 AM, on 10, 11, 12. (for free). Their lucky day. At least I snagged an NYPD SWAT uniform for my undercover disguise. Across the plaza Vince in his NYPD blues looked unfortunately Officer Morelli-ish, with his dark clean cut Italian looks.

A month ago, at one of our regularly scheduled briefings, Ranger had outlined the upcoming large jobs on the corporate calendar. These planning sessions are held twice a month, not for the rank and file employees of course, but for the inner group of...lieutenants? - the B team? - not of course the A team which is comprised solely of Ranger, Tank, our medic Brown, and Lester Santos who was out of country. And we're not the _**[Black]**__Team_...that's Ranger, Lester, Anthony Stewart, who is not even an employee here! - - and peripherally Tank who holds the fort while Ranger, Les, and Stewart do whatever the hell it is they do.

So yeah, we're the B Team. Me, Brett, Manny, Binky, Vince, Mitch. We're not inner circle but we're very very close.

Ranger wasn't actually speaking today. He rarely did the briefings, leaving the unpleasant task of actually talking to Tank, who was reading through a folder of handwritten notes. Ranger would sit and watch and listen. Sometimes I think he's in a whole other world, but he's a topnotch security consultant and a fine employer. Ranger is also a good man, and most of us - all I should say, are proud to work for him. He has our respect, our trust and our loyalty, and maybe something more. So what if he's silent and strange, and scary, the money's great.

But I couldn't believe my ears that Monday morning in September. _We're providing security for what?! _

"...a group wedding that is a publicity event for Americana Hotels and Resorts," Tank was saying.

Tank added, "It is tied into the date of ten, eleven, twelve...October eleventh, two thousand twelve. This is also Columbus Day. This creates a shortage for NYPD who is on board with our additional presence. Times Square is a hot spot as you are aware..." Tank continued the briefing, his information concise and easily remembered.

_But...a wedding? Since when are we rent-a-cops for weddings?_ Something must have shown on my face because when Tank stopped talking for a second, Ranger said, "Hal? You have a problem?"

"No sir."

"A question?"

''No, yeah, well...uh...Why a stupid gimmicky wedding, why Rangeman? All the way from Trenton?"

Ranger looked faintly amazed in a blank sort of way, no one _ever_ questioned his orders. Ranger said, "And?"

The rest of the guys in the room leaned back as if they wanted no part of this confrontation. Shit, I didn't want any part of it, but the boss's intense dark eyes were compelling me to answer so I stammered out my objection.

"This wasn't what we signed on for!"

"Are you tendering your resignation?" Ranger asked quietly.

''No! No of course not!''

?

''But...''

Ranger waited while I floundered. Finally he said, "I appreciate your thoughts on the matter, in fact I encourage you to always challenge me when you feel it's appropriate; you should never be cowed by authority."

"Yessir."

?

''I mean, Yessir, Ranger. Sir."

The boss looked like he might sigh. We're supposed to call him _Ranger_ not _sir_ but it's hard. I never in all my military career met a guy more in command than Ranger Manoso. You'd think they'd have made him a general. But I guessed the military liked the boss best in other roles. Those black, clandestine roles...Which brought my wildly careening thoughts back to the present.

Ranger finished, "Except, of course, in this instance, when I am clearly right and you are clearly wrong. It's a valid contract. The money is excellent. Paid in advance, no quibbling.''

''Yessir, I mean, no sir.''

"Fine. Anyone else have a question? No? Dismissed," said Tank.

... ... ...

**That was a few weeks ago. Yesterday's** briefing had changed all my misconceptions. Sure the hotel was doing its 10 weddings at 11 AM on 10-11-12-thing. But Rangeman was actually being deployed with NYPD's antiterrorism team. A whole other ballgame. A Rangeman-type ballgame.

This time Ranger gave the talk. "There has been credible intell obtained that there could perhaps be an anti-American incident tomorrow. This intell comes directly from undercover agents within a known cell. The appeal of the date and locale to the cell is at least three-layered: One, it is Columbus Day. Two, it is a supposedly "lucky" date in Western numerology...and has been hyped widely by our media. And, three, the weddings have drawn attention and again media focus. Furthermore the wedding couples - obviously there are ten - are multicultural in a way Islamists deem offensive.''

''What does that mean, sir?''

I was glad Mitch asked so I didn't have to.

Ranger said neutrally, ''There are three gay couples, two male, one female. Islamists see that as what they call an abomination.''

"They don't like gays," rumbled Tank's deep voice.

I felt my hackles go up. I glanced at Brett, said, ''Sir, Tank, I have friends who are gay, there is nothing wrong with- -"

''Hal. Stop," said Ranger. "I am telling you what our adversaries believe or choose to espouse; I wasn't discussing my personal beliefs." He stared at me. ''You can't possibly think I have anything against persons with alternative life styles? AKA gays?"

''No sir, sorry sir.'' Everyone made a point at not looking at, say, Hector or Brett.

"Vince- -"

''What! I mean, yessir, Ranger?" Vince jumped about a foot. Then looked to see if we noticed.

Ranger told him, ''Show the power point thing." We looked at pictures of the ten couples and at the probable terror cell members.

"Study these faces. Know them if you see them. There are print copies of the files for each of you, flash drives for your tablets or phones."

Ranger paused to see if anyone had anything to add.

"Sir, what are the rules of engagement? Are we to open fire right in Times Square?'' I asked.

"If indeed you must."

I said carefully, "It could be difficult to avoid collateral damage.''

Tank leaned forward. ''Soldier, do your best, fire pretty.''

It was a stupid phrase from Spec Ops training, sniper school. Meant hit the tiny bull's-eye dot every time. From some TV show the guys watched. We all nodded.

"Gotcha. I mean 10-4."

?

''Yessir. I meant yessir, Tank.''

''Good.''

''Anyone else wanna poke a hole in the plan, gentlemen?'' asked Tank.

Silence.

"Final briefing 0500 tomorrow. Dismissed," said Ranger.

.. ... ..

**And now it is 10.32 AM on 10, 12.** I am stationed close to the groups of excited soon-to-be-marrieds. I am armed and hyper-alert, though I keep a neutral, even vaguely pleasant, expression pasted on my face. It is after all a wedding. _Weddings._

A hand grabs my arm. I reach for my weapon, but realize instantly the hand is manicured and dainty, and is attached to a person in a billowing white gown.

I put an instant name to the face that peeks up at me shyly.

The woman laughs nervously. She says, "Can I just hang onto you for a sec, please? I swear I have sand in my shoe, it's freakin' killing me!"

_Let's not talk about killing, lady._

She leans on me and takes off a white satin high-heeled shoe. Shakes out some sand. "I wore these in Atlantic City last weekend! Guess they got a little sandy...we walked on the beach after we did all the casinos..."

She bends down to replace the shoe and over her head I glance up and meet Ranger's critical eye. He is dressed in an expensive suit and looks like he belongs a lot further uptown or even further downtown. Or on a billboard. Maybe nude? But not _here._ And if he is trying to _blend_ he is failing. Behind his head I catch a glimpse of his face splashed fifty feet high on the giant screen of the JumboTron. He follows my eyes, frowns. Yes, frowns on camera - another has taken over the close-up shot of his face. He strides out of range. Good, that will keep his mind off my bad form. I should not have let Ms Shoe grab me.

By now she has replaced the shoe and she thanks me, smiles and is hustled off with her husband to be.

Now another wedding couple move past me in the crowd. They linger, awaiting their turn in the spotlight. Two men..._two grooms?_ I wonder. _Or is one a bride? Maybe both?_ Eliot Granger and Phil Mancucci. From Key West, Florida. They are very quietly bickering. Premarital nerves.

"We needed to save the money! We could never afford a New York wedding on our own. Be grateful.'' hisses groom One.

"We'd have managed. I'd have found the money somewhere!" Groom two was a little loud.

"Suck it up, Elliot. What were you gonna do, sweetie?"

"We could always burn the house down and claim on the insurance."

"Ooh!" A little wrist slap."Bite thy tongue, young man."

''My tongue has better things to do than..." says groom two. They moved out of earshot. My face is turning red so it was just as well.

Now another couple. This bride looks older, maybe she is forty. She wears jeans and an **I [heart] NY** t-shirt along with a veil and a huge bouquet of red roses. She is pasty white and sweating, her eyes flicking everywhere. I put a name to her: Joan Sullivan, a schoolteacher from Last Ditch Springs, Montana. Marrying the pastor of her church. My mind provides a mental snapshot of the groom, Richard Lawrence, who is 45, pudgy, white, and balding. Kind face, blue eyes. I lean forward enough to see the groom. He is much younger than I expected, a swarthy young man with crazed black eyes. I think, _Hmmm, Church of Our Lady of the Perpetually Crazed Bombers._..? Doesn't look Presbyterian to me. Then I again put together a name and a face.

Yuseff-Mahammed Alladb.

I move as trained, without thought. In seconds the jihadist is on the ground, restrained, unconscious. I softly call it in. And again a bride grabs me, this time the pretty middle aged schoolteacher, Sullivan. Her eyes are big as saucers and she is holding my arms, shaking me. The huge bunch of oddly red, not white, roses is pressed between us. She bursts into tears.

''It's okay, we'll find your boyfriend!'' I promise her gently.

''No! NO!''

''But...''

''NO! The roses! They're a bomb." She is sobbing, almost incoherent. But I know _bomb_ when I hear it.

She pulls away, shows me her hands. They are duct taped to the bouquet base. And above her hands, under the flowers, I can see slabs of white plastique, probably C-4.

''How was it to detonate? When?'' I yell even as I cut the tape away and free her hands.

"Cell phone! He was going to get a call at exactly- duh!- 11 o'clock,'' she answers. I rip the roses out of her hands. The crowd has finally noticed us and my actions stir some protests, ''Hey! buddy! What do you think you're doing?'' kind of thing.

Someone else notices the inert terrorist in the gutter. I hand the bride one of my guns."Watch him!" She's from Montana, probably she can shoot. I hope.

And I take off running with the flowers, yelling, "Delivery! Delivery! FTD! Urgent delivery, make way, move it! Let me through! Deliv..." We're taught not to yell _Bomb! - _especially those of us who often guard the boss's gilrfriend Ms Plum. I run away from the crowds in Times Square, away from the enormous TV and all the hoopla.

Typically NYC, I turn a corner into a side street that is silent and almost deserted. I consider shoving the flowers down a storm drain...but, again, it is New York. I might instead blow up the F-train, who knows. I run past dumpster...no, no, shrapnel. Bad. Then I see one of those huge NYC concrete trash bins. Receptacles. **Keep Our City Clean!**

I shove the roses inside. Run like hell.

There's muffled _whooompf_. Smoke emits from the trash barrel.

... ... ...

**Two minutes later I am back **in Times Square. Ranger and Tank are on scene organizing the takedown of the other jihadists.

They look over at me.

''What was that about?'' asks Ranger.

''It was a bomb!''

?

"In the roses, in her bouquet. Actually I guess it was his bouquet." I point to the terrorist below us.

"Roses?" say Tank and Ranger.

''Red ones, with a bomb. Plastique."

?

''Just a little one, boss." I try to smile. "It is non-functional now."

"Good work, man."

"The woman? Did she find her husband?" I ask.

?

"The groom, I mean?"

"Yeah. I took her gun away and had Brett escort her up to the altar, Hal." Ranger handed me my Glock. "Yours, I understand?'

I nod. ''Thanks."

We stand over the terrorist crew, waiting for the real NYPD to show up.

Tank says, "This is supposed to be the luckiest day of the century..."

Ranger smiles, unfortunately again caught on camera.

On the JumboTron screen, he looks down at the restrained bad guys. Toes one of them with his expensive Italian wingtip shoe. ''Hear that, boys? This is _your_ lucky day.''

Feds and NYPD come and haul them away, as he repeats his words in Arabic, Pashto, Urdu...

Right. Just another lucky day.

_**the end/ series tbc**_

* * *

_**a/n **_Okay I guess this didn't fit in with R & S and romance...but the date was apropos so here ya go. I hope Hal's presence will keep the complaints down to a manageable level? Hal is _so cute!_ Yes?

Thx for reviewing


	23. Chapter 23 Happy Birthday Babe

**This story referencs another fic called Ranger's 21st Birthday. It is posted, new, on my blog, in the Ranger OneShots file/ tab. enjy. [link is in my profile...]**

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**A Random Life**

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**.**

**a/n:** This story was a writing challenge response and involves a LOT of movie quotes. It also expresses my opinion of the ''babe'' pet name issue.

early in R & S's relationship...before Take a Chance

* * *

**23 . Happy Birthday, Babe (Uh, baby)...**

_Ranger —_

**The breakfast table is a place to ingest** fuel to face the day. Maybe read the Wall Street Journal...in print. It's not exactly a great time for earthshaking confrontations. I got home late last night; Stephanie was long since asleep. Now I chewed my bagel, sipped my tea, unsuspecting.

The shower stopped running. Stephanie appeared. I looked up and smiled. She was so cute in my terrycloth robe, hair in a white towel turban.

"Hey, babe."

Stephanie, hand on the coffee pot stopped dead. "What?''

_What? _

"Good morning, babe." I rephrased. _Just in case._

''You know, Ranger, the other day I brought in Mickey Hernandez, he'd gone FTA after being caught stealing power tools at Home Depot.''

''Uh huh.'' I listened with half an ear while I read the stock futures report.

''And when Lula and I were escorting him out the door he said to his girlfriend, 'Call my lawyer, babe.' ...Are you listening!?"

I looked up.

?

"And the girlfriend, Maria Something, said to him, 'Call your lawyer yourself, asshole. _Babe_ is what dirty old men call women when they can't remember the woman's name!'"

''Babe...''

''See!''

''Stephanie. I know your name. What's the problem. You never minded before.''

''Did you call me _babe_ because you couldn't remember my name? You know, back in the day? Do you...did you used to call all women _babe_?''

_Guilty as charged. Like wearing black, it made my life simpler._

I pushed back my chair, stood up, said, ''I have a meeting. I'll see you tonight [babe].''

I got my weapons and left in a hurry. WTF was that all about?

...

_later that night..._

_still Ranger_

**I let myself into my 7th floor apartment**. I wasn't looking forward to the evening and I disliked the sensation. The carefully, expansively, renovated loft was a place of refuge for me. I have a high stress job. Jobs. I need peace and quiet. Really.

Stephanie was sitting silently on one of the black leather sofas when I walked into the living room. She looked up at me, her eyes wide and sad...and maybe a little scared.

Which pissed me off.

She wrung her hands a little like a very pretty but pitiful Lady Macbeth.

I relented and I opened my arms and said, "Babe."

_Oops_

But she jumped up, ran into my arms and we hugged.

I kissed the top of her head and asked, ''You're not crying, are you?"

''No! But I'm so sorry I was snarky! ''

_"Está bien__,''_ I mumbled in Spanish. _"No hay problemo..."_

"What?"

"It's okay," I translated, geez.

She nodded a little and said, "This is kind of an off day for me, this doesn't normally happen.''

''Good to know. Let's get a shower and [some makeup sex?] and some dinner. And you can tell me all about it.''

I carefully called her _nothing._

She said in a tiny voice, "You can call me _babe_. I...actually I like it."

"Babe."

I felt her smile against my shoulder. She looked up at me. "Can I stay for a while? You know, here with you?"

_You can stay forever._

I nodded but said, "Shower. Food."

She took my hand and pulled me towards the bedroom. "Fine."

_Yes._

...

_Later still..._

**I knew better than to ask,** but when we had finished, uh, eating dinner Steph looked over at me and said, "I know I should explain."

_Please don't. I'm really fucking tired._

?

She told me, "So, earlier this week I was saying tomorrow is a really big day, and you didn't really respond."

"And?"

"Well, so I'm just gonna tell you: IT'S MY BIRTHDAY! Tada !''

She was starry-eyed. But her smile was wobbly around the edges.

I couldn't resist, I'm an idiot. I teased, "No no no, can't be. I distinctly remember, your birthday was last year.''

Her smile got real.

"That's the funny thing about birthdays, they're kind of an annual thing, Ranger."

I stared at her. _Was I supposed to be doing something here? Like, um, a gift?_

I asked, "What was your favorite birthday, babe?"

_See, I can do chick shit._

"Oh wow! My twenty-first, for sure!" Steph enthused. "I had the best party!"

_Oh good: a clue?_

"The party lasted an entire week, and honestly, I don't remember most of it."

"Ah. Lots of pink jello shots involved, babe?''

''Well it was college! Why? What did you do on your twenty-first birthday?"

"I'd tell you but then I'd have to kill you."

"Why am I not surprised?"

I shrugged. I wouldn't kill her but I wouldn't tell her either. My twenty-first birthday involved guns, and sand, and blood, and...well. You know.

I said, "So that's your excuse? '

"For?"

"Acting the way you do? The way we do?"

"I don't like to do what people expect. Why should I live up to other people's expectations instead of my own? I know what I'm doing!"

_That's a fib, babe._

I said quietly, ''People like your mom, who give you a hard time?—who don't understand you? So you disappoint them from the start and then you're covered, right?'' _People like Morelli? Or Dickie Orr?_

"Something like that, I guess.''

"Then you screwed up.''

"How?"

"You never disappoint me.''

''Oooh. That so romantic, Ranger. Who knew?"

I pulled her up into my arms. I kissed her. She whispered, ''Tell me you love me now.''

I said, "I love you now. I love you always."

_Happy Birthday, babe._

...

**Epilog**

**Did you really think I forgot** Steph's birthday?

No, no way.

**The next day we flew to Anthony's private estate** on Cayman Brac. We took the Lear, we took our friends, we had a party. It would last all week, maybe longer. At midnight I clasped the diamond Choppard heart around her neck, my mouth following the line of the platinum chain, all along her sundrenched perfumed skin. I touched my tongue to her pulse point, under her ear, And kissed her.

The full moon glowed in her blue blue eyes

She whispered my name, the only name she knew. _Ranger..._

I whispered _her_ name, "Babe. You should be kissed, every day, every hour, every minute."

"Is that a promise?

''Yeah." _Someday._

.

the end. series tbc

* * *

Ranger's 21st Birthday: It is now posted on my blog. [See Ranger OneShots tab/ file]

**Thank you for reviewing! And Thanks to Harmne for the quotes: I'm sorry it wasn't romantic, babe.**


	24. Chapter 24 Double Trouble NJ

**There's a brand new Election Day Ranger fic on my blog! **War is over-what'll the boys DO!? Check it out.

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**A Random Life**

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a/n Yes just this chapter IS a crossover of sorts. If the ff rules require it I will remove it.

a Reacher meets Stephanie and Ranger story. I hope you enjoy it!

standard fanfic disclaimers for both JE & Lee Child's work.

***this is early in R & S's relationship, maybe Book 3 or 4?

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**Chapter 24~Double Trouble**

A Jack Reacher/ mercenary Ranger crossover

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Stephanie

**We pulled into a roadhouse bar near a truck stop** in Double Trouble, New Jersey, a no hope kind of place on the Garden State Parkway, about 40 miles southeast from Trenton, halfway between Point Pleasant and Atlantic City. Ranger parked his newest black Porsche Turbo in the shadows behind a dumpster and got busy setting up my surveillance mic and comm wire.

While his warm hands slid under my black tank - no bra, what was I thinking!? - I took a good look at my surroundings and the local clientele.

"This is a biker bar, Ranger," I said, proud of myself that the wobble in my voice was contained and not shriek of panic. Even I wasn't sure if the panic was due to the location of tonight's job or his efficient hands on my breasts.

In the faint light I could barely see his face but in response to my observation Ranger conveyed a shrug without even saying his usual _babe_. Oh, okay my required outfit tonight should have been a clue -12 inch denim mini skirt, sequined black Harley Davidson tank top, 4" black stiletto sandals. Not to mention the temporary tattoo applied earlier, a huge screaming eagle that spread across my entire upper chest from shoulder to shoulder. Hector had sworn it would come off with baby oil and he better be right because no way can I go to my mom's for dinner tomorrow night wearing an eagle that is grasping a bleeding heart in its claws, the heart emblazoned **_H-D 4-Ever_**, in the familiar Harley Davidson gothic script.

"But still..." I mumbled to myself. As if he read my thoughts Ranger said, "Babe, it's just a routine distraction, a fast lure and grab, okay? The mark is a kingpin in a crystal meth manufacture and distribution ring-" he waved a hand at the file that I hadn't bothered to read yet-"and after the feds picked him up last month, he of course jumped bail."

_No surprises there._

I opened the file and looked at the mug shot of an overweight white man with a scraggly beard and terrible teeth. _Rotted from his own product,_ I thought, _eeew._ Name was Raymond Kleinhoffer, aka Big Ray, Bad Ray and Kling Film. _Huhh?_

I read on. "His bail is a million dollars!" I squeaked.

"Yes. So our cut is a hundred grand and your share of that is ten thousand."

_Not bad for a few minutes work,_ I agreed silently and Ranger looked like he might smile as my eyes took on a no doubt avaricious gleam.

"Worth it, babe?"

"Oh yeah." My name is Stephanie Plum and I am a bond enforcement agent. Tonight I am helping my friend and mentor Ranger pick up one of his high bond skips. My job is to charm the lowlife out to the parking lot where the boys from Rangeman will take over. And truth is my concern was not so much for me. It was the Rangeman guys I was concerned about-most of them are Hispanic or black and non-redneck ethnicity doesn't always mix so well with the Aryan Brotherhood types.

"You'll be fine. Vince is working the bar in plain clothes." Vince is Caucasian, of Burg Italian heritage. "And I have more guys inside for backup."

I must have looked dubious because he added, "Hal, Cal, and Snake-all my best white boys. And I'll be right here, babe. You have me on your open comm line at all times. Here's your panic button, put it somewhere...accessible."

Ranger pressed the tiny gizmo, disguised as a car remote, into my hand then nudged my face up to look me in the eyes. Our eyes met, held, and then he kissed me. The kiss was short but hot and when he drew away, I sat befuddled few a few beats.

Ranger reached across me and popped open the car door at my back, stopped just short of shoving me on out, said, "Let's do this, babe."

I sighed. "Okaaaaay..."

Ranger grinned. "I meant, go get the skip, Steph."

"Sure. Okay. I knew that."

I trudged toward the bar's neon-lit front door, followed by a whispered: "Fix your lip-gloss on the way inside, babe. Go get 'em."

... ... ...

_Jack No-middle-initial Reacher_

**The man got off the Greyhound Bus **when it stopped just past Rattsville, New Jersey, in a little town called Double Trouble. Go figure. Atlantic City held no allure for him, he didn't gamble. And the man thought the shore was for losers with skin cancer fetishes. An hour out of Trenton he realized his mistake. He got out at the rest stop, hoping he could pick up a truck ride west or south. He walked the half mile through the forlorn little town, finally found an open bar and grill. The man needed some food that wasn't wrapped in plastic a few weeks before consumption and sold in a vending machine in the Gas'n'Go.

The bar was a disappointment. The barkeep sold longneck Bud. The food on offer was peanuts, pretzels or microwaved nachos. The clientele was white, beer-bellied, tattooed and of a Hell's Angels persuasion.

The stranger ordered the nachos and a beer. He relaxed on the last stool at the bar. The man was ex-military, Caucasian, age 45. And 6'6", 275 pounds of still usable muscle and bad attitude. He figured he was safe for a snack and a brew. Say twenty, thirty minutes, tops. Even Hell's Angels don't mess with guys his size unless they must.

Unfortunately (for her) a much more attractive target walked in not long after the waitress slapped down a plate of greasy chips and cheese. The girl was alone, underdressed and attractive. Hot even. Young, too. She shimmied up onto a barstool next to a fat man in a red bandanna and a denim _Ride Free or Die_ vest. Up close the stranger from the bus could see her extensive tattoos. Not very pretty, in his opinion.

She asked the bartender if he had an open bottle of house white going.

The young guy snorted, "Haven't seen a bottle of wine here _ever_, miss.''

"Maybe a Tequila Sunrise?"

"Uh, nope."

The biker beside her leaned forward. Said, "Give her a Bud and a shot, man. My treat."

"Oh, I couldn't," the young woman demurred.

She leaned past the biker to offer a ten dollar bill to the server, pressed her breasts against the biker's arm as she did so. He reached past her, snatched up her money and hooking one finger inside her top, he leered, looked down, then shoved the bill inside.

The girl giggled shrilly. But she took the beer and she downed the shot, being a good sport.

The stranger from the Greyhound bus listened with half an ear as she told her sad tale. How her "old man" kicked her out when she found him screwing her best friend on the kitchen counter earlier this evening. "Like I'm just supposed to watch or what?" she huffed.

The stranger lost interest and ordered another beer. He didn't tune in again until he realized that the biker asshole had invited her back to his "crib". She was saying how grateful she was to have a place to crash for a few days.

So the man intervened. He was an incurable white knight who rescued anyone in his path. Whether they liked it or not. And he was in a lousy mood. Spoiling for a good bar fight.

_Been at least a week since he kicked ass in Wyoming, _thought the big man. The girl stepped by him. He rose and faced the biker. Held out a big arm when the biker tried to go around. The biker said, "What the fuck," and tried a shove.

The stranger caught the biker's fist in his huge left hand. He bent the arm counterclockwise. And he hit the biker with a hard right uppercut to the forehead. The biker wobbled. The girl screamed. The stranger hit the biker in the stomach then drove a knee into the asshole's face. The biker was down for the count.

A half dozen of the biker's motorcycle club cronies dove into the fight. The stranger kicked a weapon or two, broke some noses.

The young bartender came around to break things up. The man jabbed an elbow hard in the guy's sternum. Then he whirled and swept the kid's feet out from under him. As the bartender went down, the stranger kicked him in the jaw. The barkeep fell in a limp heap. The girl continued to scream.

The stranger thought the scene was just like in a movie.

Then.

A jolt of pain and...nothing.

... ... ...

**A few minutes later the big stranger** woke up, dizzy and disoriented. He'd been Tasered before, he knew the feeling.

He was face down on the disgusting floor. His vision was crap but he could hear voices.

"State troopers will be here in five, boss."

"We're running outta flexicuffs..."

A scuffle, indistinct words. Then:

"We got 'em all duct taped and secured."

"Klownhopper is in cuffs in the Expedition. Tank is with him, ready for the okay to transport."

"Kleinhoffer."

"Whatever."

"Big Ray in the flesh, my man."

"Eeeew."

"Five minutes," said an authoritative but quiet voice. "Tell Tank, we'll roll in five."

"Yessir, boss."

A new voice: "Oh man, beautiful, this place is gonna need a complete renovation job. It looks like Hurricane Sandy came through here. "

Male laughter. "Hurricane Stephanie, you mean, Les."

"It wasn't my fault!" A woman's voice.

"Babe."

"Vince says he's fine, boss, but I think we should get him to an ER for x-rays on his jaw."

"That dude kicked like a mule."

"That big guy interfered, I had the skel all wrapped up and, just -boom." The girl again, her voice a little high and quavery.

Relative silence, a few murmurs in Spanish that the big man couldn't understand.

Footsteps approached. Long legs in black cargo pants and black steel toed boots walked into the man's line of sight.

"This is him?" The voice of the man they all called Boss. Somehow it struck a note of familiarity with the man. But his mind was too scrambled to catch the thought.

The black-combat-booted foot toed him in the shoulder and he managed to roll onto his side. He craned up to meet amused dark eyes.

Ranger Manoso grinned and said, "Shit, babe. You stun-gunned Jack Reacher."

**_the end_**

* * *

a/n: * the fight scene was based on the fight at the end of the Reacher novel, **_61 Hours._**

**Rattsville and Double Trouble are actual places on the map of New Jersey.

*** I tried to capture the staccato style of Lee Child, a poor imitation of a masterful writer! enjoy.

**Remember to go to my blog and read my new R & A short! Link is in my profile.**


	25. Chapter 25 Sandbags and Ice

**a**/n This was written before H. Irene or H. Sandy struck and in hindsight the subject is treated too lightly. Just goes to how why we didn't evacuate until *after* Sandy...two days after! The darkness was overwhelming...

But I / we are home now. Many thanks to everyone here on ff who contacted me after the storm. Caring messages from the outside world were a lifeline. sunny

* * *

This takes place when R & S are a couple, maybe shortly after TAC/ Mercenary Ranger world, characters.

* * *

**A Random Life**

**.**

**25 . Hurricane Season: Sandbags and Ice Cubes**

_[Ranger]_

**''Dude, you need to come by** and pick me up, and bring the truck, okay?''

It's Anthony. And you thought I have shitty phone manners.

''What's up,'' I ask calmly.

''Uh like you heard about the hurricane?''

''Yeah.''

''My mom wants us to come out to the beach and help her like board up her house for the storm.''

''Hurricanes almost never hit New York, Anthony.''

''Gloria?'' [1985]

''You were maybe three years old.''

''Yeah, we played that racecar game! Awesome! And then there was Bob!'' [1991]

''We went surfing during Bob, _hermano_," I reminded him.

''Yeah, awesome. But you know, like, it's my mom...''

''What about your house? Jilly and Nick's house?" I asked. ''And my mother's house?" _My_ mother would-I don't even know what-before she'd ask me to board up her windows.

''We have people for that shit, man. Dani, you remember my PA, Dani? - -she's from the Caribbean, she knows all about hurricanes. She says she has it covered. I'm not gonna, like, drag bags of ice cubes and sandbags and shit at my house. That's ridiculous.''

"So why doesn't Olivia..." his mother, my aunt Olivia, " - -have _people_? She has more money than god...''

"Ranger. She could have people. But she wants her boys, she wants us. _Comprende?_''

"Oh. Sure. I'm on it. Should I bring Steph?''

''Yeah, cool."

I called Stephanie, she was just dropping an FTA off at TPD.

''Yo.''

''Yo yourself, Ranger. This place is going wacko, all about this storm that's maybe, sorta, gonna come."

?

"The police department is, I don't even know - -mobilizing?"

''Care to get out of town for a day or two, babe?'' I explained about Anthony's call, how Olivia wanted us to come and weatherproof her house.

Stephanie asked, "What about the rest of your family? Jilly and your mom? And Anthony has a house out there...?"

''They have people." She took a breath to start the "people" convo and I just said, "Don't ask, babe. If Olivia wants us to carry her palm trees indoors and nail up the plywood, we're on it. She's - -"

I could feel Stephanie's smile right through the phone. ''I know, Ranger. She's like your mom too in a way. I know you love her."

''Yeah and we can surf afterwards.''

... ...

**In the end I rounded up Tank** and Vince and Hal and Brett and Binky and Junior. They all had construction training either through summer jobs or the military. We had us a convoy. Ninety minutes after we hit the road we drove over the last of the bridges to the tiny island we - -Anthony, Tank and I anyway - - once called _home_.

Anthony told me, "First stop, Whiteside Lumber. Dani called and had them measure the windows, cut the wood."

''Okay.''

''And she had six cordless drills delivered from Home Depot...charged. With extra power packs."

Anthony's ''people'' working behind the scenes.

''Why doesn't her house have hurricane shutters?" I asked suddenly. Olivia's house was new construction, very modern, huge, white. "And, or, hurricane windows?"

''Duh. Because we never have hurricanes, man."

"Oh yeah."

"And the windows are bulletproof glass, you know that. My dad thought bullets were more likely than a freakin' hurricane..."'

Stephanie piped up, "That's just sad, isn't it? I think that's sad."

Anthony and I turned to stare at her. She shrugged. "What?"

... ... ...

_[Steph]_

**We let ourselves into Olivia Stewart's** big white kitchen in her big white [bulletproof] house at the beach. She was there at the stove like an insanely beautiful supermodel version of my own mom, stirring the marinara sauce with a wooden spoon.

Anthony's mother is about as non-mom looking as a woman can get. First of all, she looks incredibly young, not old enough to Anthony's mother - -he's, what? twenty-seven or so? She's tall and slim and blonde and - -young. Today she wore short khaki cargo shorts, a grey tank top, and a blue and white striped bakers apron. Her hair was a messy blonde ponytail, her feet were bare, her tan legs looked a mile long. She turned and smiled at us, her flashing white supermodel smile, all warmth and welcome and happiness to see her kitchen filling up with huge tough young men.

Ranger thumped a brown carton onto the antique pine farm table and gave her a hug.

She hugged me and Anthony and Tank, and all the Rangeman boys too then asked, ''What's this?''

Straight-faced Ranger told her, ''It's a case of MREs. Veal stroganoff.'' All the military guys made _eeeew_ faces.

MREs are dehydrated meals for soldiers, always icky though possibly better than starving.

Olivia knew what MREs were and her perfect nose wrinkled. "But Ranger..."

"You may need them, Livy."

Olivia gestured at the stove."I'm making lasagna and eggplant parm and..."

''What if you lose power?''

''You know I have a generator.''

Ranger gave her his zillion watt smile. "Good thing that's a case of vodka, then, isn't it?'

''Oh yes!''

Anthony had gone out to organize the guys and the plywood. Now he asked, ''Mom, should we get you more ice?"

''Just enough for tonight's hurricane party, sweetie. We'll get the house all tucked in and tied down, then we'll have a nice dinner out on the deck. There's plenty for everyone..."

''Okay...?''

''And then tomorrow I'm driving into Manhattan, I have reservations at The Four Seasons. I'll have a spa weekend, get my hair cut."

We all gaped at her.

''What, you thought I was gonna sit here all alone in a hurricane? Please."

... ... ...

_[Anthony]_

Later, I'm standing with Ranger on the highest deck, the old-fashioned whaling days widow's walk, looking out at sunset over a calm blue ocean. We linger, wordless, drinks in hand. I tell Ranger, "Man, you'd like never know a storm was brewing, would you?"

''Is that a weather comment or globally philosophic rhetoric, bro?'' Ranger asks.

I grin. ''Vodka does wonders for you, Rangeman. You sound like me!''

''No shit.''

''No shit. So - -'' I gesture below where Tank is reigning over the smoking BBQ grill. Olivia and Steph are seated in white Adirondack chairs, both drinking Long Island Iced tea and laughing. "So, you could have all this, right? On, like, an everyday basis."

"I like my job, Antonio," he tells me. And I know that it is true, Ranger loves the hunt, the fight, the challenge. Peace and quiet is not part of his genetic make-up. Still...

"You're gonna get killed chasing after your damn fortune and glory!'' I worry out loud.

Ranger shrugs. "Maybe. But not today.''

''Boooooyyys! Dinner's ready!" Olivia yells. Sounds exactly like old times, when we were little kids. Back when Ranger used a different name, maybe I did too, who remembers anyways?

I clink my glass against Ranger's and agree, "Nope, prob'ly not today."

**_the end , series tbc_**

_a/n hurricane and aftermath photos are up on my regular blog, link is in my profile, enjoy._


	26. Chapter 26 He Said She Said

a/n This uses the Hawaii Five-0/ Chevrolet ads' catchphrase: ''There's more to ride in Hawaii than just the waves.''

a/n 2, in honor of Book 19's publication... I told my friend Harmne that, after reading 18 I wasn't sure I could keep on writing fanfiction. In fact I was/ am pretty sure NOT. BUT...with the idea of making lemonade from a lemon, here is a small scene from last year's book.

***lines in italics are quotes from JE unless they are the characters' thoughts.

This is Mercenary Ranger (stuck with JE's Stephanie)...but the scenario is AU [alternate universe] to my MR world/Take a Chance arc.

* * *

**He Said, She Said**

_Stephanie_

Ranger just rescued me - - again - - from a burning building...

_A half hour later Ranger I were parked in my lot. Lula was gone._

_Thanks for rescuing me," I told Ranger._

_"I sent Hal and Raphael to keep an eye on you, and I went to check on a commercial account in Whitehorse. Raphael called to tell me Lula went in with a rocket launcher, so I skipped Whitehorse."_

_"It was an accident."_

_He checked his watch. ''I'd like to say and seduce you but I have to backtrack to Whitehorse."_

"Sure. Thanks again for the rescue."

Ranger said, "No problem."

I didn't get out of the car. I said, "My knight in shining armor."

''Babe.''

We st in silence for a few beats. I said, ''If you don't love me why do you always rescue me? If you just don't give a shit, why bother?"

Ranger turned to face me. His expression was neutral, but his eyes were very dark. "I never said I don't love you.''

More silence. I had no idea what to say. I flashed back to my earlier thoughts - -_I know that I'll never be more than a amusement for this man. He'll care for me as best he can, but I'll never be his priority. _Finally I gave a little fake laugh. ''Well, we'll always have Hawaii, right?

''Stephanie.''

''Even if we never did get near a beach or a wave...''

?

''There's more to ride in Hawaii than just the waves," I told him. "It was fun, right? While it lasted."

Ranger looked at his watch again.

I slid out of the SUV. ''Goodnight,'' I called breezily.

The shiny black SUV waited, idling quietly, until I got inside.

...

_Ranger_

I just rescued Stephanie - -again - -from a burning building...

A half hour later Steph and I were parked in her lot. Lula was gone.

''Thanks for rescuing me," she told me

Earlier tonight I sent Hal and Raphael to watch Steph's back. And I ditched my Rangeman client to respond in person when I got the frantic call from Raphael a while later.

Now I checked my watch. I was late, but the client needed my attention. I told Steph, "I'd like to stay and seduce you but I have to backtrack to Whitehorse."

She said, "Sure. Thanks again for the rescue." But she didn't leave the car.

''No problem,'' I answered. I kept my voice calm and neutral. I swear I can feel my hair turning grey sometimes.

Stephanie finally said, "My knight in shining armor." Was her voice a little wobbly?

''Babe.''

We sat in silence for a few beats. Then Stephanie said, ''If you don't love me why do you always rescue me? If you just don't give a shit, why bother?"

I turned to face her. "I never said I don't love you.''

More silence. I had no idea what else to say, what would work, what would make this woman love me in return. Finally she gave a little laugh. ''Well we'll always have Hawaii, right?''

''Stephanie.''

''Even if we never did get near a beach or a wave.''

_What, she wanted to surf? Not how I remember things._

?

She added, "There's more to ride in Hawaii than just waves.''

_I knew there was a reason I never buy Chevys._

_the end, series tbc_


	27. Chapter 27 Plum Pudding

11.24.12 A bit late but there is a **new Ranger oneshot on my blog** that goes with this. Link is in my profile; remember you can add email notic=fication for new fics on my blog/ wesite. There is a little button thing at the top...

* * *

**A Random Life**

.

.

a/n: More of Hawaii 5-0/ Chevy ad quote ''There's more to ride in Hawaii than just waves.'' and scenario: 'Have Plum characters enter your world.' So I suppose it's a Mary Sue? R & S are married. Zoe is mentioned but she is not in this story.

* * *

**27 . Plum Pudding**

...

**It was a balmy November afternoon**, a few days before Thanksgiving. I stood in line at the butcher counter of my little Italian market in the tiny town where I'd settled with my kids, years ago.

The town is too small to have a supermarket—heck, it's too small to have a traffic light or a stop sign—so those of us too lazy or too busy to drive to the mainland made do with the small Italian market across from the ice cream stand. The shop had a deli, the butcher, greenmarket quality produce, and a few staples like spaghetti and paper towels... sometimes. These was a fine wine shop down the block, a yoga place, a miniscule library, and a pizza stand. Post office with no lines. And a gas station with no lines either. The Gulf station boasts an ATM and OTB, off-track betting via internet. What else did anyone need, really? The butcher is first rate, and so here I was in the only line in town, waiting to pick up my bird. The line was longer than you'd think and while I waited I eavesdropped on the women in front of me.

The older woman was familiar, a not-so-young but beautiful blonde in khaki cargo shorts and white t-shirt, an oversized a pumpkin colored cashmere granddad cardigan on top. She had a smudge of what I thought was blue paint on her cheek but it didn't detract from her brilliant smile. Her companion was younger, with dark curly hair. Nondescript clothes, jeans and t-shirt, big Coach bag that she couldn't possibly need in this shop.

Both women wore large diamond ear studs and diamond rings.

I pretended to examine the pies and listened.

"I don't know how you do it. I tried to make Thanksgiving dinner one time..." said the brunette.

"It's pretty easy, Steph, you wash the bird and throw it in the oven."

"I was a flop."

''Stick with me, I'll show you ALL my secrets," laughed the blonde woman."So—what happened when you cooked the dinner?"

"Nothing really. Ranger told me to call a caterer...so I did..."

The blonde scrunched up her face. "Um. That's too bad."

''It's okay.''

''Probably Ranger was trying to help, you know how boys are. Stupid but they mean well."

''He knew I couldn't do it. So...''

''Steph! He knew no such thing! You know he believes in you, don't you?"

"Maybe not in the kitchen," shrugged the dark haired woman.

"Did you tell him you wanted to try?"

''No..., um, no."

''Hmmm."

The women were silent for a moment. Then, "So what about these pies, Olivia? They look good." The dark-haired woman gestured to the half dozen _Home Made Pies! _on the bake goods shelf.

''I'll make my own pies, thank you!'' answered the blonde, but with a smile. "Plus I promised Julie a pie making lesson."

The line shuffled forward.

The dark haired woman pointed subtly to the newspaper rack next to the shave cream and Band-aids, and bags of chips. "Look, Iran says it has twelve CIA guys in custody."

"And?"

"Do you think Ranger and Anthony and, and, the other guys will get home in time for Thanksgiving?"

"If they do, they do...if not it won't be the first—or the last—holiday they miss."

"But..."

"You gotta roll with it, Steph. Make it festive for the girls—Julie's here this year! And Zoë made little turkey place cards and everything."

''I know, I just—"

''Your children are young, you have to—treasure the little stuff. Make happy memories. Okay?"

''Yeah, I guess.''

The butcher handed over a large turkey. The blonde smiled, thanked him. Wished the man in his long white apron a _Happy Thanksgiving_, and hefted the turkey into her cart.

The butcher yelled, "Next!"

As I stepped up for my turn, I heard the woman called Steph say, ''So why do you still bother? The guys are all grown up now.''

''It's fun and they're my kids. I'm Italian, I like to cook?"

"What would you do if you didn't host the dinner?''

I trailed the two women through the produce aisle.

''I think I'd head for Hawaii.''

''What!? Why? With this beach and ocean right here?'' Steph peered out the window. "Look at the blue water! Look at those waves..."

The blonde patted her arm, threw some lettuce and brussels sprouts into the cart. ''There's more to ride in Hawaii than just waves, honey."

Dark-haired Steph suddenly laughed. ''Oh yeah I forgot.''

_**the end**_

.. .. ..

**Happy Thanksgiving. Please continue to enjoy your turkey, the meal that keeps on giving, lol.**

**a/n** _Just in case anyone is confused: Olivia is Anthony's mother and a mother of sorts to Ranger too. Her husband and her lover were lost on 9/11. R & A think their dads relocated to Maui, undercover, of course. Who knows..._


	28. Chapter 28 The Greater Good

**A Random Life**

a/n This takes place awhile ago and is not necessarily referring to our current President. In MR world it takes place before The Concert, R & S are friends/ colleagues. In JE world it takes place around 10 or 11.

* * *

**28 . The Greater Good**

**"…And so, my fellow Americans**, I can assure you that your government is not going to take this lying down. We can and will protect our citizens anywhere in the world and make no excuses. The regime currently in power in the offending nation may claim they have no knowledge of the terrorists who kidnapped our innocent tourists, decent Americans who simply wished to visit the birthplace of their faiths. Well, my fellow Americans, I say this is a lie—and a lie of omission is still a lie. And therefore…"

**Tuesday Oct 20th, 4.27 PM- Presidential News Brief on TV**

…

_Ranger _

Tank was sitting across from my desk while we watched the President's speech. As the man droned on, Tank held up three fingers: 3, 2, 1—The encrypted satellite phone on my desk vibrated.

"Yes, General."

"You heard the President?"

"Yes, sir."

"And?"

"A lie of omission is still a lie, General."

"Let's not quibble semantics, Manoso. Some idiot speech writer wrote that."

"Yes and the President got up in front of the world and read the lines."

"It shouldn't matter. We don't work for him."

Tank and I locked eyes.

?

?

"We work for the greater good," the General added.

Tank thought, _Oh. _

I thought,_ I work for the money._

I'm a mercenary, it's my job.

Our silence spooked the General, who hurried on. "Okay, okay, but we can't just go in and bomb an innocent country…."

Tank and I exchanged raised eyebrows again.

?

?

"But we can send in someone to extract the missing tourists. And reduce the threat of further incidents."

Tank held up 6 fingers. I nodded a bit—we'd need a six-man team. He twirled a finger in the air and held up 2 fingers: 2 extraction helicopters.

I said, "One moment please, sir," and punched some numbers into my computer calculator. I wrote the results on a Post-it and showed it to Tank, who nodded.

"General, as soon as—" I named my fee—"hits my offshore account, we will roll."

"That's a lot of money, Manoso."

"It's a lot of votes, General."

"Yes, okay. The wire transfer will be complete within the hour."

Tank and I both said, "10-4," and I clicked the sat phone off. Tank got up without a word. He knew who was going, what was needed. We do this all the time, after all. At my door, Tank turned back to me and said, "On the way to the airport I'd like to stop by the bonds office and tell Lula goodbye in person."

I nodded a little, engrossed in my computer screen.

He added, "This time of day, Stephanie will be there too, probably."

I glanced up at him. Mini-nod, accepting his concern. I would track Steph down to say goodbye, of course. I always did before any out-of-country op, even though she never really seemed to notice or care. I always make sure I get a farewell kiss—because—well, you never know, do you.

…. …. …. …..

_Stephanie_

**I watched the shiny new black Range Rover** disappear down Hamilton Avenue, into the setting sun, my fingers touching my well-kissed lips. I said, "_Binky is In Charge _? Now that's just bizarre."

"You ever wonder, white girl, why some days Batman and Robin show up like that?"

"I never thought about it, Lula."

"Hunh."

"What?"

"I dunno—What if they are, like, saying farewell, like they won't come back one of these times?"

I laughed. "That'll never happen, Lula! C'mon, let's grab Connie and head out for Margarita Nite."

"Sure."

Secretly we each thought_, But. Oh god, but—what if?_

_the end, series tbc_

_A/N just so you all don't worry, the boys got home safe and everyone lived HEA._


	29. Chapter 29 Upgrade

**A Random Life**

_a little holiday confusion: theme is ''misheard words".._

* * *

**29 . We've Upgraded to Orgies!**

_[Unnamed MM POV]_

**I sat in the Rangeman conference room **listening to Vince give a PowerPoint briefing. Ranger sat at the head of the table, Tank to his left, both silent. Ms Plum, as we still call Ranger's wife, was sitting down the table a ways, between Hal and Raphael. She was rooting through the refreshment tray, looking for leftover donuts, no doubt.

Fruitless search, I don't have to tell you, right?

Vince said, ''This is a straightforward Rangeman close protection job. Rangeman is not doing event control. We're providing security for this rock band..." He flashed a press photo onto the white wall. "... while they are in their hotel, to and from the event, and wherever they go during the day, if anywhere. Our main focus is at the hotel. Remember, people, it is Christmas. Make sure there are no paparazzi lurking around, especially behind these half-Christmas tree things they have up - - [another photo on the wall, this time the hotel lobby] ''...instead of the usual potted palms."

He looked around. "Any questions?"

"Okay, then..." He passed out specific assignments. Ended with, ''As one of the band members is a woman, Ms Plum will provide the close security for that individual..." I longed for briefings from Ranger or even Tank, Vince's military bureaucratese-speak got on my nerves. But more and more Ranger, a man of few words and a hell of a lot of action, left these in-country meetings to Mitch or Vince.

Who was saying, "Yes, Binky?" He was looking at the huge blond kid known as Binky, who was now squirming in his eat.

Binky said, "Um, I did the prelim phone contact to the hotel...?" He looked at Ranger not Vince.

Ranger said, "Yes?"

''And um, well, sir, maybe Ms Plum shouldn't be assigned...?''

The boss's wife got a rhino look on her face and leaned forward, ''What the heck!?"

Ranger said neutrally, ''We need a female on site."

''Yessir but that is what I mean, the site..?''

''Binkman, spit it out. I'm not a mind reader."

Everyone looked surprised.

Ranger mimed a huge sigh, made a _go on_ motion at Binky.

''Sir, when I called the hotel and asked about their facilities, the manager told me all rooms and the ballroom, the lounge, and so on have orgies!''

''What?''

''Yes, they said '24/7 orgy'. Everywhere!''

?

''And so I thought maybe, ah, um, you wouldn't want Ms Plum to be there, you know where there's orgies going on.'' Binky's face was scarlet headed towards crimson. Beet red, anyway.

Ranger said, ''I don t think..."

And Vince said, ''Orgies, Binky? Is that, like, better than threegies?"

''What? WTF is a threegee?...Oh 3-G?"

''Yeah," Vince told poor Binky. "The hotel has upgraded their wireless, they now have 4-G service. Everywhere."

Binky sat back and heaved a big sigh. ''Oh." Then he looked at Ranger. "Nevermind, boss."

"No problem, Binkman. I appreciate your concern."

"I don't!" muttered Stephanie.

''Yessir.''

... ... ...

**The meeting concluded** and we walked out. As I headed to the door, behind me I could hear Stephanie giggling. "What, Ranger? No threegies? It sounds like fun?"

''No, babe, but maybe we can call Anthony and ask him if he's interested in 4-G."

''A three-way 4-G?''

I glanced back. Ranger was silently laughing, behind him Tank was scowling and Stephanie was fanning her now red-as-Binky's face.

"Something to think about, babe. For Christmas?''

the end/ series tbc

* * *

again, Happy Holidays to everyone. If you haven't read the Xmas fic on my blog, R & A & S, pls visit...link is in my profile.


	30. Chapter 30 New Years Eve

**A Random Life**

.

.

_A tiny poke at all those "Stephanie Gets Seriously In Shape stories? How those New Year's resolutions can go wrong..._

A/N: If you've never read any of my stories, Anthony is Ranger's halfbrother and best friend.

* * *

**30 . New Year's Eve**

**. **

_Stephanie _**A little before midnight** the penthouse door opened and he entered silently.

I turned and smiled. ''Happy New Yea...um. Year."

The last day of the year—and I didn't mind at all that Ranger and I were staying in for a quiet celebration, just the two of us. Much more intimate—and romantic—than say, Times Square, or downtown Trenton by the big fountains and statue of General Lafayette, in front of the courthouse. Yeah, Trenton does its own little "First Night'' bash nowadays. But this New Year's night was cold with an icy rain falling, and who needs to party in public with a bunch of drunken lowlifes anyway? Not me...and definitely not Ranger.

Ranger was also on call tonight so most of his men could spend the evening with family or friends. He was down in the comm room, but had promised he'd be upstairs well before the ball dropped. I had dressed up in a slinky, tiny, black silk and sequins number, FMPs to die for...and not much else. And at about eleven, just as I was setting the champagne into the ice bucket provided by Ella, along with platters of gourmet nibbles and glowing candles, the door opened, and gently clicked closed.

Now I turned and smiled. But—not Ranger. It was Anthony. I recovered and smiled again. "Happy New Year!"

He smiled back at me and said, ''Don't worry, I just stopped by for a minute. I'll be gone before your private party starts, I promise.''

_Hmmm._ I love Anthony and he was looking hot in a tired and scruffy way, but I had definite plans for tonight that were not of a _guys_-nite-in nature.

But still. It is New Year's Eve and he seemed to be alone and...lonely? I said, ''No problem, stay and have a glass of champagne! Let me take your jacket, get comfy.''

He slipped out of his beat up leather jacket, revealing one of his ratty surf shop tee shirts and kneehole jeans. Even though I knew, because Ranger wore them too, that these decrepit jeans cost _big_ bucks, I shook my head a little. Maybe he'd have a date if he dressed a little nicer. I hung up his jacket which weighed a ton, and my hand smoothing it in place in the coat closet detected the knives and a gun hidden in the lining somehow. And when I turned, there he was, pouring the champagne, armed to the teeth.

I guess it will take more than nice jeans to get this boy a date. I almost giggled. Anthony is just so freakin' cute. In a lethal sort of way.

Anthony frowned at me a little—his ESP kicking in, but gave me a crystal flute and said, ''Salud."

We clinked glasses.

''Salud. Happy New Year," I said.

He kissed me on the cheek. We sat down.

And Ranger appeared. I guess we didn't hear the door? The men greeted each other, hugged, Ranger gave me a quick kiss. He said, "Save me some champagne, I'll just shower quick, be right back."

''I should go,_ hermano_. It's not like we'd debrief tonight anyway,'' said Anthony.

Ranger made a hands up gesture, like _what/why?_...and I said, ''Stay awhile! It's almost midnight, you can't get into the city anyway right now." Anthony lives in Manhattan, traffic would be horrendous, I assumed.

''Uh...''

''You're not intruding, stay.''

Anthony looked so tired it tugged at my heart. But Ranger just silently disappeared into the bedroom.

''Steph, I can see you had an evening planned here,'' Anthony said.

I smiled at him, took his hand, snuggled close. ''Lucky for me nowadays I have lots of romantic solo evenings with Ranger. You're staying. Now pour us more champagne and either shut up or tell me something funny.''

''Funny?''

''Yeah, like a joke?''

Anthony thought for a minute. "Okay, like, these two hitmen meet up while walking their dogs. One guy has a Doberman, the other guy has a Chihuahua. As they saunter down the street, the hitman with the Doberman says to his friend, _Let's go over to that bar and get something to drink. _

''The hitman with the Chihuahua says, _We can't go in there. We've got dogs with us._

''The one with the Doberman says, _Just follow my lead._ They walk over to the bar and the guy with the Doberman puts on a pair of dark glasses and starts to walk into the bar. The bouncer at the door says, _Sorry, Mac, no pets allowed._

''The hitman with the Doberman says, _You don't understand. This is my Seeing-Eye dog._ The bouncer says, _A Doberman pinscher? _The man says, _Yes, they're using them now. They're very good._

''The bouncer goes, _OK then, come on in._ So now the dude with the Chihuahua figures he'll try it too so he puts on a pair of dark glasses and starts to walk into the bar. He knows his story would be a bit more unbelievable.

''Once again the bouncer says, _Sorry, pal, no pets allowed._

''The hitman with the Chihuahua says, _You don't understand. This is my Seeing-Eye dog._

''The bouncer scoffs, _A Chihuahua?_

"The dude with the Chihuahua says, _A Chihuahua?! A Chihuahua?! They gave me a damn Chihuahua?''_

Ranger returned for the punch line. He shook his head at Anthony and me laughing our asses off. He almost smiled.

Through my laughter I asked Anthony, "Why were they hitmen?''

"Dunno, Steph. It's like a joke."

We opened more champagne, set out more food and watched Dick Clark's replacement kid talk about his New Year's Eves with the the now passed-on legend. (''OMG, he was older than my Grandma!'' I sighed.)

The ball dropped; we kissed and hugged. I urged, ''Sing, sing!'' and wobbled out, _''Should auld acquaintance be forgot...''_

Incredibly the guys chimed in, laughter on their beautiful faces. I always forgot that they both could sing and had great voices.

And, lol, know ALL the words...

''And surely you'll buy your pint cup !

and surely I'll buy mine !

And we'll take a cup o' kindness yet,

for auld lang syne.

We two have run about the slopes,

and picked the ladies fine ;

But we've wandered many a weary foot,

since auld lang syne.

But seas between us broad have roared

since auld lang syne.

And there's a hand my trusty friend !

And give us a hand o' thine !

And we'll take a cup of kindness yet,

for auld lang syne.''

Afterward, I danced with each man, slow sexy dances that had no relationship to the hip-hop party now playing, since Anthony had switched us to MTV.

Breathless I sat down on the sofa and gulped my wine.

''Babe...''

''Hey! You guys have to tell your New Year's Resolutions!''

?

?

''Don't give me that. You know: you have to say what changes you're gonna make, how you're gonna do better, fix what needs fixin' and so on.''

''Babe, if I have a personal issue I make the change necessary when I see it, I don't wait for January first.''

''Of course not! You're perfect!'' The champagne was hitting hard. ''And you?'' I nudged Mr. Tired and Scary.

Anthony smiled at me. ''Baby, I'm perfect just the way I am.''

"Hmmm...''

"But what about you?'' he continued. "You make New Year's Resolutions, Steph?''

''Oh yes!''

Ranger slung an arm across my shoulders and, his voice indulgent, said, ''Tell us all, Steph.''

''Oh. Well, lemme think...''

_Hee hee hee. The perfect twins might have a moment coming_, I thought gleefully. I said, "I have resolved to lose five pounds—"

''Babe..."

''Okay, okay! Ten!"

"Babe."

"Yes!And, um...go to the gym more often...''

?

''Take my self defense classes more seriously. I plan to read a literary novel every week!"

By now both men were outright laughing.

"I am going to get a hobby! Maybe...crochet? —And most importantly I plan to _broaden_ my horizons." The last bit was said in a low sultry voice.

''Travel?'' whispered Anthony.

''No. I had a more personal idea in mind...''

They weren't laughing now. But they did look intrigued.

Ranger said, ''Go on.''

''I'll need your help...both of you. Your participation?''

They stared at me. I stood up and slowly grasped the hem of my little black dress, slowly started raising it towards the tops of my thighs.

Anthony stood abruptly and said, ''I gotta go. Happy uh New Year.''

The apartment door clicked shut behind him. I yelled, "You forgot your coat!'' But he was gone.

I shook my head sadly. ''So much for broadening my horizons."

**_the end, series tbc_**


	31. Chapter 31 Tawdry 20

**A Random Life **

* * *

in honor [cough, cough] of JE's latest book, a look into the future. In my MR/ Plum world. Ranger & Stephanie are happily married. The series *could* go like this...not that it would but it could.

For B who reminds me when it's Friday! :-) And for H who always says nice things. I hope you all enjoy!

PS I ll try to have something on my blog over the weekend. I ll add a note at the top here if I get it ready, gotta do some shuffling there.

* * *

**31 . ''Tawdry Twenty _A Stephanie Plum numbered novel...!"_**

**_._**

**_. _**

**I'm not cut out to be a trophy wife.** Just because I'm married to the boss—No, not Bruce! And definitely no, not Gov. Christie, like eeew?—to Ranger, it doesn't mean I want to loll around, shopping and primping and having spa days..._hunh_. Well, some days that _does_ sound fun but let's face it, it's not real life. Nope—I wouldn't _enjoy_ sitting on my ass staying out of trouble, where's the fun in that?

... ... ...

**My name is Stephanie Manoso.** I am the mother of a five year old princess and stepmom to her big sister. And a very chubby little dog. I love them all but I'm not stay-at-home/ mom van/ soccer meet/ ballet class material either. And god forbid I have to supervise the science fair projects someday! So I spend my days either hunting skips or running searches on said skips. Usually a "skip" is an idiot who failed to appear in court and whose bail bond money will be forfeited unless the bondsman can retrieve the lowlife and return him or her to the system. I handle all the bond enforcement preliminary work at Rangeman; Ranger wants a paperless office so all the files come via email from Connie. It's efficient but not as much fun as hanging with the girls, munching donuts and gossiping.

_If Ranger thought it was that easy to get me off donuts he had a rude awakening early on in our (_sarcastic gasp) _relationship_, I thought. I grinned and dug into the Tasty Pastry box of Boston creams and opened the day's assortment of files.

The files are color coded: green (color of $$$?)for high, felony bonds and (chickenshit) yellow for easy non-felony pickups. My job is to research them all and decide which if any of the green bonds were okay for me and Lula to take—and if too dangerous, to dole them out among the guys. Lula and I do all the yellow files, of course. Then there are the red files. These do not come from Plum Bail Bonds, these are federal warrants that Rangeman has a contract to enforce, sort of a Wanted Dead or Alive thing, right? These always belong to Ranger; only he and a few of the guys are authorized to pick up federal warrantees. Usually this would be a US Marshalls' type of work. - - - To this day I am not totally sure what the boys are, but they are _not_ federal Marshalls.

I am supposed to read over the red files, do any prelim research and ASAP pass them off to Ranger or Tank. Sounds like a plan? Yeah well the guys are in the wind this week, no telling when they may reappear. I opened today's new red file and...

... ... ...

**A half hour later I was sitting in my mom's hot steamy kitchen**, sipping coffee and eating Entenmanns's coffee cake. Icy rain was pouring down, beating on her kitchen windows, another rainy day in the Burg. Mom stood at the stove, stirring the red gravy and Grandma was searching the rental apartment ads—seems she and my dad had another falling out.

She looked at me across mom's ancient little Formica kitchen table. She said, "That hot man of yours is out of town, isn't he, Stephanie?"

"Yeah..."

"Well I could come stay, babysit the little one for you, have a nice couple weeks or so, sleeping over. I could use some luxury and peace and quiet."

"I don't think so." My daughter Zoë has an _au pair_—a Swedish babysitter named Britta, a Russian hitman bodyguard, , Romanian war criminal bodyguard called Dave, an indulgent "Aunt" Ella and assorted badass uncles. Childcare is covered. Besides, she and my grandma might blow the place up and Ranger would finally kill me.

"But..." whined Grandma.

"Mom," I interrupted, "Do you remember Heather Ann MacDonald? She married Willie Scramenski? They were in Valerie's class, I think."

Mom nodded. "Oh sure, he was on the football team with Joseph, you remember? And she was a cheerleader."

"Do you recall what happened with them after high school?"

"Well they got married right away, the first baby was born maybe 3, 4 months after the prom and graduation...she was stay-at-home mom. And I think Willie went in with Kevin Bronazzi—they had a motorcycle repair shop, right, Mother?"

"Yes that's right," said Grandma. "But sad thing—Willie, he was laid out at Scooter and Dave's when I went to see Mr. Forrester there. Willie was in the Weeping Willow Room, closed casket. Word was, he wiped out on his Harley, during that last nor'easter we had. Even Dave couldn't make Willie look nice enough for a viewing."

Dave the undertaker is a different guy from Dave the Romanian contract killer and sometimes fashion photpgrapher/ baby bodyguard, okay? You're following this so far, right?

I refocused. Mom turned and said, "Oh that's so sad. He was just a boy really. Thirty-five, or so, like Valerie."

"Have you guys heard anything more?" I asked.

"Like what?"

"Well, what's up with Heather Ann now?"

"Oh she and Kevin are an item, he's consoling the widow," smirked Grandma.

"Anything else?"

"No."

... ... ...

**Back in my SUV I dialed the voice activated dashboard** phone thing. The call was picked up on the second ring.

"Morelli."

"Hey Joe. How's it going?"

"Fine. It'd be better if the twins weren't teething but what can ya do?"

"Bear with it, Joe—pretty soon they'll be borrowing the keys to your car and getting picked up for DUI."

"Bite your tongue! And probably your Zoë will be blowing up her daddy's Porsche."

"Oooh, low blow." I laughed, even though my Spidey sense gave a prophetic twinge.

"See how it feels?...Anyway what can I do for you?" asked Joe.

I ran through the Willie/Heather Ann/ Kevin scenario. "Heard anything else?"

"Not that I can talk about. And why are you asking me? Where's Ranger?"

"Um, he's away—at, um—a convention, yeah, a convention," I babbled.

Bark of laughter from Morelli. "That must be a sight to see! A spook convention! And it isn't even Halloween."

"Joe..."

"How does it feel to watch CNN and see the hubby blowing up—well, whatever?"

"Oh grow up, Joe."

"Pot, kettle, Cupcake."

I hung up.

... ... ...

**Back at Rangeman I reread the file** and the federal warrant. It was for both Heather Ann and Kevin. It seems the feds had been investigating the bike repair place for drug sales and distribution—not just pot, crack cocaine! Geez. During the weeks of surveillance the undercover DEA squad had documented the ongoing affair between Kevin and Heather Ann. They were not interested in that at all until Heather Ann's husband William aka Wee Willie [_eewww_] had turned up dead in the mud on a rainy night in late December. The feds now believed that Kevin and Heather Ann had conspired to kill Willie—Kev's business partner and best friend, Heather Ann's husband of almost seventeen years. The wrecked bike showed signs of tampering, the brakes appeared to be cut.

So there they were, a couple of drug dealing cheaters who decided to cut out the third member of their little group. A judge had issued a warrant for their arrest but the lovers were nowhere to be found and the warrant was passed on to Rangeman.

After a moment's thought, I called Heather Ann's house, using the number I found on Facebook. Her mom picked up, sounded frazzled. I did my spiel about trying to reconnect with old friends for the annual high school reunion. Mrs. M said, "Maybe you didn't hear about Willie? My Heather was so upset by his —accident?—that she asked me here to babysit!"

"Babysit?"

"Yeah, the younger kids need an adult around and tell you the truth, that Willie Junior, he's a pack of trouble waiting to happen too. I don't care if he is seventeen, he needs a keeper and I guess, for now, I am it."

"Uh huh. So—where's Heather Ann? I'd love to talk to her. Give my condolences and so on."

"Like I said, she's out of town. Willie's partner Kevin, he took her on a little trip."

"Gee, where? With the lousy weather, all this rain—it sounds so fun, so relaxing...somewhere nice and sunny, I hope?"

"He took her to Atlantic City."

"Oh. Well. But a change of scenery, right?"

"Yeah that's what counts."

I hung up with the mom, leaned out of my cubicle and assessed the possibilities. Ranger, Tank, and Lester were away on a "job". My stealth brother-in-law Anthony, though not an employee but always up for action, had gone with them_. Hmmmm_. I tapped my long rose-red nail on my chin.

I knew there'd be nothing blown up on CNN because Hal their demolitions expert was right over...

...there...

"Hal? Yo! Hal...interested in a road trip?"

_the end...because you all can picture how it all goes down, right? Right._

* * *

_The end, series to be continued._


	32. Chapter 32 What's in Your Wallet?

**I** have just posted Part one of a new Mercenary Ranger story called Coulda, Woulda, Shoulda, on my blog/ website. [1.18.13] It is listed in the tabs. come read! link is in my profile. love sunny

***I suppose we might need a small smut warning for the second part here So...:

'smut implied', you've been warned.***

* * *

**A Random Life**

**.**

**.**

**32 . What's in Your Wallet? /On the Job [with Ella] **

**.**

**Eight AM on a very rainy Wednesday morning, **a relentless grey downpour following the torrential rains that swept through Trenton NJ the previous night. But on the sixth floor of the Rangeman building, Ella Guzman was in a cheerful mood, on her way upstairs to clean Ranger's private apartment, always her first and most important task of the day.

Ella enjoyed working for Ranger. She and Louis, her husband of twenty-five years, always got a good laugh when people wondered if she was related to Ranger. Even now she shook her head a little. Relatives of the young man they all called Ranger?—well_, claro_, those people lived in mansions and had housekeepers of their own. But she was very fond of Ranger, he was polite and so good looking, and he reminded her of her own boys, now in college thanks to her good job and Ranger's generous help with tuition.

She quietly let herself into his apartment, almost tripping over wet boots near the door.

Ella _tsk-tsked_, especially when she saw the heaps of wet black clothes just beyond. She went on in and closed the door, looked all the way down the hall. Ranger's bedroom door was closed and the apartment, except for the wet clothes, was pristine.

_Ranger must be sleeping, maybe he got in very late,_ she surmised. His utility belt and weapons—two black guns and a vicious-looking military grade knife—were carelessly discarded on the antique sideboard near the door. _Hmmmm..._

_I'll just pick up the wet clothes and come back later,_ she told herself. She scooped up his wet t-shirt first. It was so wet it dripped, so she put it near the door on the black and white marble tile floor, reached for the cargos.

It was unlike Ranger to leave such a mess, although truth be told, the boy was not as neat as he liked people to think. After all, he was so tidy and perfect because he had Ella and Louis running after him all day, picking up the mess he'd leave if not properly cared for. And then he'd get crazy, because her sweet young boss was pretty OCD and visible mess made him nuts. She smiled indulgently at the thought. _Heaven forbid Ranger got crazy!_

The black combat pants were heavy, not only waterlogged but also with pockets full of Ranger's junk, as she thought of it.

She dug into the right front pocket: a cell phone, which she wiped dry with the dust rag from her apron pocket and set on the sideboard next to his guns. Keys went onto the silver dish. Ella hoped the remotes weren't ruined by being so wet. She made a mental note to have Louis check the batteries later. Ranger would not be pleased if he couldn't open or start one of his cars.

Tiny Advil bottle, now empty_. Pobrecito, he must have had a stressful night last night._ That went in her pocket, she'd replenish the headache medicine and return it later.

Next pocket. "More crapola," she murmured. Mini Maglite, some sort of screwdriver multitool, a lighter (?), some loose change. A silver money clip, with his bad habit of carrying far too much cash, a fake drivers license and an AmEx Black credit card. _And black-tinted sunglasses! At night!?_ She put those items in the dish with the car keys.

Each item was dried, polished and set out for her boss's attention when he woke up.

A sodden black leather wallet...not for money, she realized. It fell open under her handiwork, displaying weapons permits, photo ID, and gold shield. _Just like a policeman..._she thought. The badge said, Homeland Security, not Rangeman Security, and she wondered a little. Then moved on with her task.

Last pocket, the left thigh pocket_. Oh how odd._ A tiny spray perfume, Blueberry Dreams? A Chapstick, in _Blueberry Thrills_ flavor. _I found my thu-rills! On Blueberry Hill, _she hummed, almost soundlessly. The cap had come off, it was squashed and ruined. And highly scented. Ella could see it was a deep berry red color, more lip stain than lip balm.

She glanced at the bedroom door. The perfume and this lipstick had Stephanie Plum's name figuratively written all over it.

A sound? She cocked her head_, maybe a moan or...?_

_And what's this?_ The final pocket yielded a crumpled handful of foil. _Eeew._ Three blueberry condom packages, one empty.

_Boys will be boys_, she thought.

Ella put the unused condoms by Ranger's money clip in the silver bowl. She picked up the cell phone, the ruined lip balm and the empty condom wrapper and headed to the kitchen, the one item headed for its charger, the other two to the trash bin.

Ella always moved silently—an active man like Ranger needed a good night—or day's—sleep after all, but as she tiptoed down the hall she again thought she heard—well, noises—from the bedroom. Soft laughter.

And strewn along the hallway baseboard where she hadn't been able to see, was another trail of wet clothes, dark jeans, high heeled red pumps, a black t-shirt...black lacy bra, red thong.

Ella looked at the condom wrapper in her hand, tossed it into the trash, then she silently scooped up the rest of the wet garments and equally silently departed.

Huge grin on her pretty, middle-aged face.

The elevator doors opened, she stepped in. Looked up at the cameras and whispered, _"Finally!"_

The fifth floor watchers broke onto wild cheers and ordered a celebration lunch from Shorty's.

... ... ...

"**Ranger?"**

**''Mmm?''**

**''Have you seen** my blueberry Chapstick? I put it in your pocket last night while we were on stakeout, remember?''

''I remember the blueberry condoms_,_ babe.''

Giggle.

''Were there any left?'' asked Ranger.

''I'm not sure. We, um, used a bu..." She reached across his bare chest and grabbed the box, shook it. "Empty."

"Look in my pants pockets, babe. Blueberry is your favorite flavor, right?''

Stephanie smiled and touched the tip of her tongue to her pouty upper lip. "Flavor of the month, Ranger."

He captured her and they rolled across his big bed, laughing for no reason.

Ranger told her, "We don't need the blueberry ones." He rummaged in his nightstand, "We have, uh, banana, cherry, lemon drop, margaritaville, coconut...?"

"No! Wait. I'll be right back!"

Ranger almost smiled and enjoyed the departing view of her pretty white ass and her curly brown hair trailing all sexy and tousled down her back .

Then from the foyer, he heard, "Ranger? Um—your pants are missing..."

"...Are my guns there?"

"Let me see...oh yeah, here they are. And here," she appeared triumphantly in the doorway, "are the condoms! My fave! —But no Chapstick."

"Do you need it?"

"Not right now," she told him, her hands and mind focused elsewhere.

"Babe."

**_the end, series tbc_**

* * *

_claro: [slang] for sure/ clearly_

_pobrecito: poor baby, pronounced poVreceeeto..._


	33. Chapter s 33, 34 Craigslist

**a/n: **This is ''late", I try to post on Fridays..but it 's a twofer so maybe that's okay. I hope this isn't confusing...both stories/ chapters were inspired by a real Craigslist ad and use movie quotes [you'll notice the repetition of the lines.] I wrote these two **totally unrelated** versions. Not one continuous storyline!

enjoy.

ps no blog update this weekend, but soon.

* * *

**A Random Life**

**.**

**.**

Chapter 33 is Merceneary Ranger, and my Stephanie but it is AU to my Take a Chance story arc. Ch 34 is my usual storyline.

* * *

_***An ad on Craigslist: Wedding Dress for Sale - Worn once by mistake. Call Stephanie.***_ [two versions]

**_33 . Craigslist~ The Expected_**

**_._**

**Tank approached Ranger's office gingerly**. Ranger had just returned from a long solo op. He had not debriefed, had just buried himself in the masses of paperwork, hiding behind a wall of silence.

Tank knocked on the open door frame. Ranger glanced up, "No need to knock, man, it's open."

Tank hovered in stricken silence, didn't take a seat, just clutched a crumpled computer printout in his huge sweaty hand. Ranger again looked up from his paperwork, said, "What's up?"

Tank said, "Um, I was selling my golf clubs, got a new set, you know, summer's coming and all. So I was listing them on Craigslist and..."

"Why bother with Craigslist, just trade 'em in at the pro shop, man."

"I was hoping some kid who really needs them would buy them, I listed them for fifty bucks...But that's not the point, boss. What is, is, is, I came across this ad."

He handed the printout to Ranger.

Ranger looked at it, then Tank could see his eyes suddenly focus and track across the brief line of words**: Wedding Dress for Sale - Worn once by mistake. Call Stephanie.**

Ranger said, "What the fuck? Wedding dress?"

Tank said carefully, "It's her cell number, boss, I recognize it."

"Yeah, me too." Ranger got up and walked out.

...

**Stephanie sat at her kitchen table**, reading her ad on Craigslist and giving herself a pep talk. _Okay, one down, so far so good._ Her dress from her wedding to Dickie Orr was no loss, she'd be thrilled to get ten bucks for it. Heck, she might bribe someone just to take it away! But today she had promised herself she'd also list her unused, never worn wedding dress, the dress she was supposed to wear next month when she finally married Joe Morelli. Well, that wasn't gonna happen, was it? Walking in on Joe and Terry Gilman, in his bed, _their _bed! the bed she, Steph shared with him every night-was the final slap in the face.

And Joe had stood there in all his naked glory and yelled that he deserved Terry because Stephanie had Ranger. And some shit about the four of them in bed together! For just one brief hysterical instant, Stephanie and Terry had locked eyes and exchanged OMFG looks, _was __that__ a hot idea or what, girl?_ looks. And then Stephanie had said, "Yes, you're right, Joe, have a nice life." She left her engagement ring on the coffee table, hugged Bob the Dog, picked up Rex's glass cage and went home to her little lifeless apartment. Now she had to get rid of the dress and start over, an honest woman this time.

Because, Stephanie finally _really _admitted, it was Ranger whom she loved, had always loved. Not that he was available or anything, he wasn't even in town. Probably not even in the country. No, Ranger was off in Timbuktu—was there even really such a place?—living _la vida badass_. Sure, he'd be back and then what? Tell him she loves him? Facing up to challenges was not Steph's strong point. She sipped her Dr Pepper and sighed. No question about it, the man was dangerous, at least to her stupid heart, which he so callously broke that morning a few years ago. She thought_, And me? Oh I am great at handling danger! I laugh in the face of danger, and then I run and hide until it has gone away. And go he will. He does. Leaving is actually what Ranger does best, right?_

**Silently Ranger appeared in front of her.** She shrieked and he winced a teeny tiny bit. He said, "What's up with the wedding dresses?" The two white gowns were heaped on the table in front of her.

"My mom said she didn't have room to store them. And they're useless to me."

?

"I can't marry Morelli. I can't live a lie."

He looked at her like he was maybe reading her chickenshit soul. "Maybe," he said, "I can't either, even being friends..." He didn't finish his sentence_— Even being friends hurts like hell...and could destroy us both in the end._

He turned away and as he was walking out the door, Stephanie yelled, "I could learn!"

?

"I could learn to face danger, heck, I could learn to _love _danger! Embrace danger. I'm—willing to try."

"Is danger a metaphor for me, babe?"

"Only if you break my heart." _Again._

"It could happen."

Stephanie was thoughtful for second then she said, "Will it? Have you _ever_ hurt me? I know—I realized afterward—that you sent me back to Morelli only after I told you that we—you and I and your job—wouldn't work out." [Hard Eight]

Ranger's eyes were dark and calm and neutral. If the memory hurt, he didn't show it. If his heart broke that morning long ago, he would never tell. He said, "What if I die in some shithole?"

"What if I get killed by a crazed stalker?"

They stared into each other's eyes, searching, hoping? Maybe just a little?.

Stephanie said, "Life isn't perfect, Ranger. But as of right now I am choosing to live and one day, one second, of loving you is worth the world to me."

"I can't make promises."

"I've never asked for promises from you, Ranger. Cars, yes; a home, yes—a promise, no. Never asked, never will."

"Yeah, okay, babe, let's do this."

... ... ...

**_later..._**

"Babe?"

Steph lifts her head from his shoulder and turns over, looking into his beautiful eyes.

"Yeah?"

"What kind of a dress would you like to wear for the wedding?"

"Dress? Wedding?"

"You know, your dream dress. Doesn't every little girl have a dream dress? Look like a princess and all that?"

"You definitely have sisters, Ranger!"

He nods a fraction. He doesn't have sisters but he remembers little girls and play acting. And he knows women.

"So?"

And so, just for a goof, a laugh, because she's happy, and in love, and he asked, Steph spins him a tale of a fairytale wedding on a white sand beach in Grand Cayman, all her friends there. A white silk dress from Vera Wang and white Haviannas [flipflops] for the sand. A live reggae band, a bonfire. Chocolate cake and white orchids. Pink champagne. Vows said at sunset.

Promises.

Ranger listens carefully and makes his plans.

I love you.

I know. I love you too.

...

_and they did! they had the wedding and lived HEA!_

**the end, series tbc, next version follows...pla keep reding.**

* * *

***Craigslist ad: Wedding Dress for Sale - Worn once by mistake. Call Stephanie. ***

Cupcake warning-Morelli isn't so awful but he is a bit of a jerk in this fic, sorry! Much later in R & S's relationship.

.

**_34 . Craigslist - The Unexpected_**

**_._**

**_._**

_[Ranger]_

**The Craigslist** ad read: **_Wedding Dress for Sale - Worn once by mistake. Call Stephanie._**

Vince flashed it up on the white wall of the Rangeman conference room, using his Power Point program and projector.

The phone number was recognizably the cell phone number of Stephanie Plum. I should know, it has been #1 on my speed dial for a lot of years now.

The joint task force personnel read the words in silence, then the Trenton PD liaison barked out a rude laugh and said, "Geez, Ranger, I guess Steph finally gave up on the notion that you'll ever make an honest woman of her!" He slouched back in his chair and laughed some more. The other police detectives and ATF agents looked confused.

I felt Tank's concerned glance at me but shook my head a fraction. Part _don't worry_, part general disbelief. Morelli was so off-base it was a little bit hard to wrap my mind around his apparent notion that I would broadcast my personal life to a roomful of feds—ATF in this case—and assorted police officers from not only Trenton, but Newark, Jersey City, Bayonne, and Port Elizabeth. And even then, did Morelli actually think I'd expect Steph to wear her old wedding dress from The Dick's wedding—if indeed we ever do get married? Oh come on! I'd dress her in a couture gown fit for a princess—if she'd let me.

I guarantee 100% that she will NOT be wearing that old used gown. But anyway...

After a few seconds of admittedly bemused silence on the part of not only myself but most of the rest of the room, Vince cleared his throat and said, "There's more. Here is the entire email; it was sent this morning." He looked at me and I nodded permission. A new screen appeared on the wall.

The entire email said:

**_Hey mom-I know you want us to get our old junk out of your attic! I think you'll be happy that I placed the following ad online:_** Wedding Dress for Sale - Worn once by mistake. Call Stephanie.**_ It will appear on Craigslist starting tomorrow, Thursday. Here's the link: weddingdresses/used/... _**

Then the message text continued:**_ Mom I know you think we should also sell Valerie's kids' crib, but you *know* she might have more babies! LOL! Just teasing! But it's maybe too soon to sell it? better hang on to it a few more years! okay?_**

**_Hope we make some $$$ here! I sure could use it._**

**_love_**

**_Steph_**

Morelli said, "So what? No wedding, just a baby? The Plums aren't gonna be happy, Manoso." He was still laughing.

Vince opened his mouth to explain but I stood up and said to the room at large, "Through Ms Plum's contacts here in Trenton, in what is called the Burg, she intercepted rumors that a new gun supplier is organizing in eastern New Jersey." By this I meant that one of Steph's lowlife skips blabbed about having big-time connections, threatened that she'd be "sorry".

I continued, making eye-contact with the other New Jersey police detectives, one by one. Up til now I had been working solely with ATF—Department of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms; the various police departments had now been brought into the loop as a courtesy and to provide manpower and backup to Rangeman and ATF. "Ms Plum passed the intell on to me and through my own sources I acquired a line on the new player; I came up with rumors he was probably Russian or Ukrainian, probably mob, _mafiya—_and was muscling in on the Greeks and the Chinese. At the point I contacted ATF."

The ATF guys all nodded, straight-faced but you could tell they were _very_ happy.

"Rangeman took the contract to intercept and take out this new gun cartel before it gets a firm foothold in this area of the northeast. We placed Ms Plum, using a false last name, in a garden apartment outside Bayonne; she applied for and was hired for employment as a bookkeeper in this office." Vince showed a picture of a one story office building next to a large warehouse. The sign on the warehouse said: **_Gortoff and Co. Importers/Exporters/Expeditors._**

Morelli was now visibly fuming. I couldn't believe the bad planning on the part of the TPD chief who assigned Morelli to this case. Oh sure Morelli was good at his job, but he was a hot head who talked trash instead of listening. No sense saying _Italian temper_ either, no excuse. Do you see Vince having a tantrum right now? He's Italian. What about me, what If I had a _Cuban_ tantrum...and kicked Morelli's ass? _Hmmmmm—maybe..._

Morelli caught the faint amusement on my face and he blurted out, "Are you out of your fucking mind? You sent her in undercover? She has no training, she's useless, she's worthless, a fucking disaster magnet!"

Did this guy just say my woman is worthless? I stared at him and he went a little pale and shut up. Truth is, Stephanie insisted. Her intell, her op.

I thought back to our brief conversation a month or so ago. I had said, carefully, _Babe, it's not easy working undercover. It could be dangerous._ And she grinned at me, all enthusiastic, but shaking her head, _You know me, Ranger,I laugh in the face of danger, and then I run and hide until it has gone away._ _I can do this._

And she was good. The Russian bosses thought she was a cute Italian American bimbo, all curly hair, and cleavage, traits she emphasized to overcome her lack of actual bookkeeping abilities. Nothing like Steph in a short skirt and FMPs to addle a man's brain, right?

I said neutrally, "She was right for the job." Morelli opened his mouth but I held my hand up, said, "Vince?"

"Yessir. Well, before we inserted Ms Plum into the Russians' corporate office we set up a series of messages so that she could stay in touch without calling or contacting us. The email about the Craigslist ad was actually sent to us, to an email address we falsified, pretending to be her mother..."

"Mrs. Plum? You got her involved too?"

"No, sir, Mr. Morelli. Her fake mom, Mrs. Ianucci." He pointed to himself."That's me. Mama Ianucci. Well, us. Other guys monitored the emails too."

One of the ATF agents spoke up finally, "But what does this tell us? I'm a bit lost here."

I sat back down and let Vince explain: "When she said _it starts tomorrow_ that means the first shipment will be arriving through Port Elizabeth tomorrow, okay? _Only worn once_ means 1 AM because the crib stuff, that means tomorrow night-actually tonight, after midnight. Crib means AM. If she had said _Let's sell dad's golf clubs, he'll never use them,_ that would have meant tomorrow afternoon or evening. Got it?"

More nods.

Another fed asked, "How do we know it is Port Elizabeth, not Port Newark?"

Vince clicked and another email came up. It said:

**_Hi mom I forgot to tell you. I talked to Aunt Elizabeth and she said she'd like to look over the old photo albums before we pitch them out. So I'll come by tomorrow night and get them. Okay? _**

**_l, _**

**_S_**

The AF guy said, "So she's saying Port Elizabeth and reiterating tomorrow, meaning 1 AM tonight?"

"Yes," I said. "The timeline is tight but we can do it."

"This UC agent is good, Ranger. Good intell, good instincts."

I nodded. And Morelli groaned.

I spent another half hour, listening to everyone's take on the takedown. I Iet them talk, it didn't matter to me. I knew how it was going down, I could see it it my head, step by step, right up to the moment I cashed the feds' check, so to speak. I would brief them later, though, now they were just blowing off nerves and testosterone.

I said, "We'll meet back here at 4 PM to finalize the operation plan. Be armed, be alert. Any questions? No? Okay, let's do this."

Everyone left and then it was just me and Joe.

He opened his mouth, closed it, shook his head. And walked away. I sat down at Vince's laptop and instead of pulling up the satellite map of the cargo seaport at Elizabeth, New Jersey, I googled _wedding gowns_. Hey a guy can dream right?

the end, series tbc

Thank you for reviewing!


	34. Chapter 35 Cut Off

a/n: Part Two of my new blog story is now posted on the blog. 2.2.13 please go read it, and review? Linkis in my profile...

sunny

* * *

**A Random Life**

**.**

**.**

A/N-This is a Mercenary Ranger fic. It takes place during **_Seven Up_**. To refresh anyone's memory, Ranger has been out of town while Stephanie hunts DeChooch. She has also been hounded into announcing a bogus wedding date with Morelli and has been trying on wedding dresses...This story takes place at the point where Ranger, who is not always very charming in this book, offers Stephanie the famous Deal.

* * *

**35 . CUT OFF **

**.**

**_Seven Up,p.120-121, paperback: "...I opened my door and stifled a shriek. There was a man sitting in my living room. I took another look and realized it was Ranger...He was wearing black dress slacks, a lightweight black sweater and expensive black loafers. His hair was cut very short. I was used to seeing him in SWAT dress with long hair and I hadn't immediately recognized him. I guess that was the point." _**_[a/n 2: Ranger had his hair cut short in Hot Six which took place a month or so before this book, but we will ignore that JE inconsistency, right?]_

_Ranger proceeds to offer Stephanie The Deal all the while giving her help and information so that she can do it by herself. They meet up again a few days later at the Bonds Office._

_... ... ... ..._

_[Ranger]_

_Plum Bail Bonds, Trenton, New Jersey, Monday morning..._

**I walked into the Bonds office** on Monday morning. Lula, Steph, and Connie had their ears glued to the intercom which was broadcasting one of Vinnie's sessions with, I was guessing from the squeals and moans, Joyce Barnhart. The women were totally engrossed, probably because it was like watching—well, hearing, a train wreck—and they didn't notice my presence.

During a lull in the action, Connie said ,"Ranger is back from Puerto Rico, did you know?"

Steph leaned a hip on the desk edge and nodded, examining her manicure intently. Lula chimed in, "He looked hot, did you see him?"

Stephanie said, "He always looks hot."

_Good to know._

"Yeah but he cut his hair! Really short, looks different—but, I am telling you, white girl, he is hot!"

_Oh fer chrissakes, so I cut my hair. Big freaking deal. _

Stephanie might have answered but Connie shushed the other two girls as action resumed noisily. I decided to intervene.

* * *

_a few days earlier, penthouse suite/ Four Seasons Hotel. Washington, DC_

**I look around for** my pants, nada. I say to Lester, "Where the fuck are my clothes? Tank! What the..?" To Lester I add, "That son of a bitch took my pants."

... ... ...

_Last week. Spec ops training w/ Tank and Lester Santos..._

**I stood there in front of the newbies**, hands on hips, dressed in my black RMPMC* fatigues, flanked by Tank and Les. The men standing in front of me are the guys who passed. The ones who survived hell week aka Special Forces selection screening. They have recovered enough to be _arrogant_, which I find hilarious, though I stoically remain deadpan, of course. I am heavily armed, making a point here, military assault rifle, other automatic rifle; handguns, knives. Black sunglasses. My hair is very long these days and I left it loose. Tank and Lester are similarly equipped, though Lester has braided his long hair and he and Tank both are wearing Rangeman baseball caps with their black glasses. It is oh ten-hundred,10 AM, early spring and still cold.

The ranks of men stare at us, in silence, a hint of challenge in the air.

I say, "You think you don't like me because I am a mercenary, a military contractor—a gun for hire. I won't try to make you believe that I stood there once just like you men, half proud, half exhausted, mostly just scared shitless. And you don't need to like me, or even respect me—I am here to teach a skill that you will need to survive."

They stare in hostile silence. By this point in time, during my own training, I had already taken down the combat instructor.

_I'm just saying..._

I begin my prefight ritual, just to distract and annoy. I hand my rifles, one at a time, to Tank, braid my almost waist length hair. I remove my handguns and shoulder holster, take my knives and cell phones and beeper out of my pockets. Remove the throw-away handgun on my ankle. Lester collects everything with a straight face. He makes a neat stack of my belongings and I hand him my watch and then my earrings. Then my sunglasses.

The grunts want to jeer or laugh but they're too tired. I toe off my boots and socks. I say, "Also instructing you this morning will be my colleagues, Santos and Tank. You don't have to like them either."

"What should we call you, sir?"

"You can call me Ranger." _Everyone else does..._

"Were you a Ranger, sir?"

"You don't need to know."

It's a little weird but I am actually famous in the arcane world of Special Ops. Under the name of Captain Carlos Manoso I am the undefeated mixed martial arts champion for every year that I was in the regular military. They have this annual _thing_, a spec ops Super Bowl or World Series of fighting. I kicked ass. Hey I was a kid, what did I know?

I say, "Let's do this."

Do I teach these men to do what I do? Well, no...I can't teach them that, part of my proficiency is inborn, a natural talent. I am very good at what I do, I have—skills...

There are fifteen new recruits, to this, a Green Beret Spec Ops group...six minutes later I have single-handedly taken them all out. My clothes are still clean, I'm not even sweating. Lester yawns. "Dude."

"Go get the medics." We have some bloody noses, a few broken arms, fingers, toes—despite my efforts not to harm these boys, and yes they are boys, at least in my jaded eyes.

We divide the survivors into three groups and begin, seven heartless days of first unarmed then armed stealth combat, an education in stealth death. I know more than one hundred ways to silently kill a man with simple household items. Got a spoon? A paperclip? A...squeegee? Or I can kill with nothing at all, just my hands—or hand. Or foot. Elbow, knee.

They do need to know this, or at least become aware of what they do not know. The army will continue the training I have begun. I am giving back. Or maybe just covering my ass in case someday, in some godforsaken shitstorm, one of these boys is standing behind my back or fighting at my side.

... ... ...

**On the way home we detour to Puerto Rico** to pick up a skip for Vincent Plum. The bond enforcement pick-up was my cover for being out of town. Vinnie knows better than to ask too much, think too much.

Before heading to Trenton we stop in DC to see our handler, General XXX. He tolerates these training sessions but he really doesn't much approve, waste of time and talent in his eyes, I am guessing.

Now in the present time, at our hotel, Tank walks in and hands me and Lester our full-dress ARMY uniforms in hotel valet bags, the dark blue, almost black —the new look,lol—and lotta golden brass shining through the plastic window of the covering. Tank looks normal, shaved head as always; Lester, like myself, looks strange. You can get away with long hair in Rangeman black SWAT fatigues, it even looks okay with regular ARMY camo unis, oh okay, looks kinda banana republic dictator and all, but it works. And our long hair was great cover, another layer to our onion-like personas, long hair and earrings does not scream ARMY, does it?

But somehow you just can't put on the full dress outfit, all the ornies and ribbons and junk, all the spit shine and immaculate tailoring, unless your hair was cut high and tight. And so here we were. Three undercover operators, and oh, yeah, the skip.

Tank smirks. "I didn't steal your pants, Rangeman, get a grip. I had everything pressed by the hotel staff, you want to look good for your big occasion, don't you?"

"No. I need to get back to Trenton."

Lester says, "He's all upset 'cause his babe, that little white sweetie pie, has hooked up with the cop."

Tank says, "Not my problem, man. Focus, kiddies, focus."

I consider shooting my two closest friends. Instead I make appointments for me and Les—with the hotel barber.

... ... ...

**Yesterday when we reported in to the General**, he met us in his high-tech "smart" conference room. Shit, the conference table is smarter than Lester! We were still in black, tired and casual, feet up and all, when the General arrived.

We didn't get up but we all nodded politely, said, "Sir."

"Who the fuck is this?" growled GenX, motioning to our FTA whom we dragged along, partly out of spite and mostly because I didn't want to lose him.

"He's our skip, remember?"

"What's he doing here, this is a secure facility!"

I looked at the felon who cringed. I shrugged. "He won't breathe a word, will you, Rashon?"

"My name be F-Man-Z, I'ma tellin' you."

"But you know who I am , right?"

"Yeah, yeah. Um, no! Whatever you say, man. Shit. Hey, man, you've got a serious attitude problem, you know that? You're one scary asshole, dude. You fuckin' crazy."

"I know," I agreed coldly. Rashon cringed again and turned pale, pale for a black man anyway.

I turned to the general, "He's cool."

The general stalked by me to the head of the smart table then turned and shoved my feet off the glossy wood. He said, "Like your guest said, you've got a serious attitude problem, Ranger. You think you're —" words failed the man, who just shook his head.

"Sir?"

"Where are you boys billeted, Fort Meade?"

" The Four Seasons in Georgetown. We're not military, we're mercenaries, sir."

"Not right now you're not. Go to your lodging, get some rest. 0900 tomorrow AM, present yourselves in the lobby in full uniform."

"We don't have uniforms here, sir."

"I had them sent down...do you really have your dress gblues tailored by Armani, Major Manoso?"

"Snooping, sir?"

"The quartermaster sergeants were gossiping...ah-hem. Nevermind!"

"No problem , General."

... ... ...

**0900. White House car arrives**, takes us to see the big man. Private, very very private ceremony/ this-never-happened/full deniability private. The President makes a little speech, shakes our hands sincerely; the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs pins some new ribbons on us, hands us each a little box containing the real medal. This was in recognition of an op a few months ago, classified, of course. And Top Secret. Then our general steps up and pins something on my collar. I can't see what it is, but everyone shakes my hand and says _Congratulations, Colonel Manoso._ They have bumped me up a couple grades, as if that matters in any way except to loosen red tape. No photos are taken, no press release, no notice in the New York Times or Trenton Journal. No CNN, no CNBC.

No ticker tape parade.

We are after all the blackest of black, covert, clandestine operatives.

Three days later, I walk into the Bonds office. The girls are listening to Joyce boink Vinnie, barnyard style (don't ask. _Please_.) And discussing my hair.

Word on the Burg grapevine, Stephanie and Morelli are engaged.

_and so it goes..._

* * *

_the end, series tbc_

***RMPMC = Rangeman Private Military Corporation


	35. Chapter 36 Candy Hearts

**blog note:**If you missed it this past week, I have posted the third , final part of my current story Coulda, etc on my blog. Link is in my profile.

* * *

**A Random Life**

**.**

**a/n:** This takes place during **Notorious Nineteen**. Ranger and Stephanie are friends and colleagues. It is before Take a Chance etc.

Some things have been changed from the book; quotes from the book are in italics. If you have not read the book, R & S are participating in a wedding to protect the groom who is an ex-army buddy of Ranger's. Ranger talks S into doing the wedding security despite her having to wear a bridesmaid's dress as her cover. And of course she never says no to Ranger.

...

**36 . Candy Conversation Hearts **

**.**

Ranger_: "I was in the Middle East with [Robert] Kinsey. We were part of a small unit of specialists. Kinsey and I bailed when our tour was up." p.67_

Usually I try not to lie to Stephanie. But sometimes the truth needs...a spin? And truth is, I did leave _that_ unit. But not the action...

.

Setting the scene: The wedding rehearsal in Book 19 : pg. 237:

_I lined up with the rest of the bridesmaids. Ranger was next to Kinsey watching me walk toward him. His expression was serious, unwavering. Hard to imagine what he was thinking...For a heart stopping moment I imagined myself walking down the aisle to marry Ranger, one of those bizarre what-if moments..._

_Ranger_

**Just shoot me now. Please.** I am standing at the front of a church in the Burg, watching Stephanie Plum walk down the aisle. Her eyes have gone huge and brilliant blue, her cheeks flushed suggestively pink. Our eyes lock, her tongue touches her pouty upper lip.

I shift a bit uncomfortably, I am not made entirely of steel, you know.

She is wondering what I am thinking.

I am trying hard not to laugh.

Poor Stephanie is wearing the most god-awful pink dress you can imagine. This is the rehearsal but the bride wanted to check all the details—hence the fiasco that Stephanie is wearing. The dress is too tight, the sleeves are puffy and the neckline is too low. But not in a good way. There's a huge bow on her ass. And she's wearing ratty black Vans.

The other nine—nine!—bridesmaids are dressed in similarly cringe-worthy pastel candy colors. _Candy_ being the operative word here. My old army buddy's sweet and stupid wife-to-be has chosen Valentine candy conversation hearts as the theme for this affair. Go figure. Seems Amanda and Kinsey met at a bar one dateless Valentine's Day, and the rest is history. So behind Steph follows a woman in pale purple, one in mint green, a peach, an aqua, another in yellow. I think perhaps the yellow is worse than the pink...but maybe not.

Steph, as the fake maid-of-honor, is the only victim, I mean attendant, in bubblegum pink. Pepto Bismal pink taffeta. A crime against humanity. I bite my cheek to keep from laughing out loud.

We, the groomsmen, are more tastefully dressed in traditional black tuxedos. When the bride started telling us our ties would match the bridesmaids' gowns, I froze her with one patented glance. Then I leaned over to Kinsey and whispered, "Pink taffeta bow tie? Over _your _dead body, man."

Kinsey passed the intell on to the bride. I think this is when she started disliking me. Bigtime.

I also vetoed boutonnieres made of actual candy hearts. In fact, I banned them entirely, I do not wear flowers [or candy!] on my second best Armani tux.

Someone has to rein in the bridezilla. If Bobby Kinsey can't man up, I will.

The bridesmaids' bouquets are made up of candy colored roses. Lavender. Pink. Yellow. Mint green, aqua—dyed, so tacky. Tonight's flowers are silk, standing in for the real thing tomorrow.

The wedding rehearsal goes off as planned. I don't laugh my ass off in public after all. I am actually a bit relieved when Steph informs me that the bride has borrowed Steph's [my] new Ruger .38 for protection tomorrow from the nutcase who is stalking poor Kinsey. Of course this means Stephanie is again, and as usual, unarmed.

...

**These attacks are still a mystery to me**. I mean, why Kinsey? Sure, he was part of our unit but he got out about as fast as he could. It's not like he was really cut out to be an operator. If he'd been good he'd be working for Rangeman, not selling Escalades at his daddy's Cadillac dealership.

I sip the crappy champagne and consider...things.

Later at the dinner Stephanie gives me a little poke in the ribs. She leans in and whispers, ''Who's that? ''

I'm on high alert, looking for the stalker. But she is discreetly pointing to a couple of older ladies.

I tell her, "The mother of the bride and grandma, I think."

''Why are they scowling at us?"

''Not us, just me. They don't like me.''

Stephanie giggles. Too much wine. She points to another frowning woman. "Who's that?"

"Kinsey's mom and aunts. They don't like me either."

"And who's that? That guy looks pissed off too.''

"He's the wedding planner."

"Why is everyone mad at you? You're trying to save Robert's life!"

Again.

I think about explaining—the pink bow ties, the candy boutonnières; the loaned .38; the expensively trained operative who now sells gas-guzzling vehicles to old friends like Tank and Mitch. Words of course fail me.

"Let's just assume for the moment that everyone in here doesn't like me, okay?"

Silence, then Steph's lips brush my ear."I like you."

I turn my head so the next whispered seduction hits my lips not my ear. "Good to know," I mumble. Then I steal a kiss.

Yeah she loves me now but just wait til the wedding pix hit Facebook. My ass will be fried.

Happy Valentine's Day!

...

the end, series tbc

* * *

next up: Lester does Mardi Gras is New Orleans?

Thank you for reviewing!


	36. Chapter 37 Misdemeanor

**A Random Life**

Hi! I didn't finish Lester and Ranger's trip to mardi gras, sorry! But here's a Lester oneshot to tide you over. R & S are a couple here, not a feature of this chapter tho...

I am pretty sure film prompts are involved here,lol.

enjoy.

* * *

**37 . A Misdemeanor**

_._

_[Ranger]_

_Prospective-client call. Downtown Trenton, April 2011_

_._

**I feel like Steph, yelling ****_it isn't my fault_****,** but in this case my line would be _It isn't my job_. If Lester wasn't family I'd be ready to strangle him. Or slit his throat. Or worse.

He glances at me, question in his eyes.

_I've always wanted to slit your throat, and now I get a chance to do it. _

Lester's ESP isn't great but my accompanying death glare cuts through his mental static and says it all.

He thinks, _Yo, boss. Chill._

I maintain my hostile yet polite silence. Rangeman doesn't supply security guards to banks, especially not to cut-rate commercial bank branches in downtown Trenton. Unfortunately for me my cousin Lester is dating a bank employee and she has begged for his help.

The branch bank is in a renovated late 1800s cast-iron dry goods store that some misguided architect has turned into a chic mini mall and food court. I say misguided because it is after all Trenton; we aren't talking about SoHo here. Anyway, this bank is located in the mall and always hopeful, the crappy little bank has placed ATM machines out in the marble lobby that also houses the foodcourt. Those machines are getting robbed regularly and the woman, her name is June Ellis, is the bank manager so the lost bucks stop at her. Ellis is kinda hot...maybe thirty, tight skirt suit, stylish black framed nerd glasses. Long sweet blond hair, big...uh...

I sit in her office, listen to her sad tale and watch her and Les make goo-goo eyes at each other. _Eeeeew._

She finishes her explanation. "Oddly the amounts removed are very small, less than twenty dollars each time."

"Kids playing pranks?" I suggest.

"Would children have the computer knowledge to get money from our ATMs without a card?"

I figure most ten year olds could take over the entire cyber world, but then I have experience with "kids" like that.

I tell June, "We have no way of knowing but the amounts are not felony thefts, they barely count as a misdemeanor."

"But next time they could take thousands!" Her voice rose a little.

I ask, "There's no cameras?"

"There are cameras but they seem to find just the right angle to avoid them."

"Uh uh."

"Lester thought you might be able to help?"

_He did?_ I stare at Lester who ignores me.

I tell the woman, "We can run live surveillance for a few nights."

"What does that mean?"

Lester says, "We sit in a dark corner and wait."

"And wait," I add.

She makes a little face and Les heaves a huge lovelorn sigh. I'd like to see his mother's face when he brings a blonde woman named June Ellis home for Sunday dinner. And the naughty secretary look would be gasoline on the fire of my _Tia_ Angelina's rage.

June asks us both, "Is that what you call a stake out?"

We nod.

"What in the world do you think about when you sit for hours and hours?"

I stare and convey _none of your fucking business_, but Lester gently takes her hand and says, "I pray. I meditate. I eat chocolate. I dance. If only in my own mind."

_Barf City, as Julie would say._

June Ellis does a coy "Oooh..." because I think Lester has rendered her speechless.

He coughs a little, realizes he's over the top.

June's forehead pleats into a tiny frown and she reaches into a hard-candy filled bowl on her desk. "Butterscotch?" she purrs.

"Thanks," says Les in a strangled voice. He puts the candy in his mouth, shoves it to one cheek and to break the creeping silence he says to June, "Interesting candy bowl. I like the size."

The candy bowl is approximately the size of a small salad prep bowl but deeper. It is cream colored china, painted with old faded roses, and it has a handle on one side.

Lester adds, "Looks like a giant coffee cup. Is it a family heirloom?"

June seems delighted with this evidence that overtly masculine Lester Santos has an antiques loving metrosexual soul. She tells him, "Yes! It is my great grandpa Swanson's chamber pot!"

Lester spits the candy across her office.

She is saying, "The Swanson were pioneers, there was no indoor plumbing back then," as the little missile sails by. ''...wha..?"

To distract her as the yellow blob oozes down her white wall I ask, "Is there any evidence at all, Ms Ellis?"

Her eyes return to me. "June, please call me June," and she opens her desk drawer. She hands me a small white pharmacy bag. "This was found near the ATMs after the third robbery."

"Why didn't you give it to the police?'' I open the bag and peer inside. I pull out the brown bottle full of little blue pills, look back at Ms Ellis.

She is blushing. "Well, I ..."

I look at the label: **Viagra. **Prescribed for L. Santos.

_Huh?_

"Yours?" I ask Lester, "Something you need to share, _primo_? _Problemas de echar un polvo?" _I add in Spanish. [cousin; problems getting laid?"]

He grabs the bottle, reads it, says, "No! They are...they...Look, I don't need to rob an ATM, I have money! I have an ATM card! Look!" He digs out his wallet, waves a red and white card towards me then shoves it across June's desk. "Check it out! I have a good balance!"

June looks down. Pauses, then with both index fingers gently slides the card back towards Lester. She says, "This is not a Trenton Nickel and Dime Bank card. This is a Victoria's Secret gift card."

Go figure.

"And the Viagra?" I ask him.

"Not mine! Well it is, I got it from Dr Blumfield, the Rangeman company doctor, but it's for my uncle Pablo, you know my dad's cousin, he can't get it up lately and my mom asked me to help."

"Your mom?" June and I echo.

Lester stuffs the Victoria's Secret card back into his wallet, sinks his head down into his hands. "This looks bad, doesn't it." Les moans dolefully.

"Do you need a lawyer?'' I ask.

''No! Yes! I don't know. Man, I just wanted June-Bug to notice me. She's so cute." He waves a hand at poor now-silent June.

We all thought the situation over for awhile. Mostly I was pleased that I didn't have to run a stake out here at the Trenton _Galleria Lite_. And I was carefully ignoring the "June-Bug" part.

I look at June."Do you want to press charges?'

"No, no. I think...I'm flattered. You should have just said hello and asked me out, Lester."

"I needed an in."

"Okay," says June decisively. "Repay the amounts removed. Fix the glitch that allowed the thefts. I'll tell my superiors that your company was running a securities check for me."

"That's it?"

"Let's add dinner and dancing and you deposit all your personal money in my bank."

"And then you'll forgive me?" asks Lester.

"Yes." She reaches over and takes his hand. "Deal?"

"Deal."

I'd love to have a camera going when she sees the Santos family wealth pour into her tiny coffers.

_the end/ series tbc_

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_thank you for reviewing!_


	37. Chapter 38 Perfect

**A Random Life**

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a/n: for those who always want R & S interaction here,lol. For A who isn't into perfection, for R who, like me, believes that at times Ranger is, well, cute. enjoy.

CUPCAKE WARNING-I don't _think _I harmed Morelli, but you know, in my world he will NEVER get The Girl….Be Advised.

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**38 . He's Perfect but I Love him Anyway…**

**.**

**.**

_[Joe]_

**It was intended to be a joint operation** between the DEA and Trenton police department. I was the detective in charge of the investigation and had been given the role of TPD liaison for the taskforce. Then Captain Henderson, my Chief of Detectives called me into his office.

"Have a seat, Morelli."

I sat.

He said, "We have a meeting with DEA personnel today at Rangeman, the offices are located on Haywood Street downtown."

"What?"

"Yes, it seems that the drug investigation you've been working on has turned up a child pornography ring. The DEA has called in Rangeman to facilitate the extraction of the children before the rest of the bust goes down."

"Jesus!" I couldn't picture Ranger Manoso facilitating _anything_, but….

The captain said, "You have problem with that?"

_Not that I wanted to share with my boss, um, no._

"No sir," I said. "I'll keep you in the loop."

"See that you do, Morelli. I want TPD to come out of this smelling like an effin' rose. Got it?"

"Yessir."

…. …. … …

**Now I entered the high tech, low profile building known as Rangeman.** I was greeted politely and ushered to the meeting by a black-uniformed escort, a man whose face was familiar from my days as Stephanie Plum's boyfriend—all of Ranger's men have guarded her at some point, I think—but whose name I didn't know. Contrary to what I used to tell Steph, Ranger's employees are as low profile as he is and they didn't make a habit of being regulars at the local cop shop.

The man passed me off to a face I did know, the big African American guy called Tank. He said, "Ranger wants to see you in private before the taskforce meeting." He used a key fob to access the penthouse floor. I'd been here once or twice before—can't say the location brought back fond memories.

Tank knocked on the carved mahogany door and then opened it to let me in. He said, "Ranger will be here shortly, make yourself at home."

_How—trusting, _I thought.

I walked into the spacious loft's living area, abstractedly admiring the serene atmosphere while deploring the extreme perfection of the space. It was so...so—clean! No grubby sneakers or dirty socks under the coffee table, no beer cans or pizza boxes on its gleaming surface. No lint on the carpets, no dust on the shelves. I sat on the black leather sofa and wondered what it would be like to live here—with Stephanie. Not the most cheerful of thoughts, either.

A voice called, "Ranger—did you…?" and the curly haired form of my ex-girlfriend popped around the archway to, I supposed, the rest of the living quarters. "Oh! Joe! I guess Ranger got held up with something, can I get you a drink? Coffee, a coke?" She came into the room and kissed my cheek casually, like we were old friends. She looked _wonderful_, I thought sadly. Slim and toned and well-cared for, good haircut, expensive jeans. Big diamond rings. Wide, easy smile—Stephanie Manoso was obviously a very happy woman.

I said, "Do you know why Ranger wants to see me?"

Stephanie handed me a can of Diet Coke and said, "I think he wants to be sure you are okay with the DEA giving part of the contract to Rangeman. It _is_ your investigation and bust, after all."

"My boss said _take it or leave it_."

"Oh. So?" Her smile dimmed a bit.

I said, "Yeah, go on."

"Well, I will be part of the initial infiltration when we go in to extract the children. The thinking is that they have been traumatized enough—even if it has only been still pictures being taken. Unfortunately, Ranger's techs are finding evidence of paid webcam sites too. It is really horrifying, Joe…and we feel the children need to see a woman or two, not just an armed response team. Probably Lula will be with me, too."

"Uh huh," I said. _Lula?! _I added, "And so…?"

"And so—are you okay with that, Morelli?" said Ranger who had silently entered the room behind us.

I tried to hide the nervous jump of my muscles and said, "I can do whatever needs to be done, Ranger. You're not the only professional here." _You just get paid the most, damnit._

"Fine." Ranger stopped next to Stephanie and gave her a fast hug and kiss. She hugged him back, looking starry-eyed. It made me slightly queasy. Ranger added, "I have to change, I'll be right back." Ranger disappeared into the hallway where Stephanie had emerged minutes before.

"I've never seen him in jeans and a regular shirt, I don't think, " I said, thoughtfully.

She smiled. "He can be low profile if he must. It just isn't his usual style."

"No, it's not, is it? He's more like this apartment, all cold and high tech and spit-shined perfect."

She laughed. "Perfection! I love that in a man, that's so cute!"

_Cute!_ Ranger was many things, I was pretty sure cute was not one of them.

I said, "Is this what you left me for? For some fantasy?"

"No, Joe, I left you because I love him, because I always loved him, right from the start—all those years ago, remember?" She watched me closely, blue eyes serious and caring. "I do love him. Even though he is annoyingly...perfect!"

Ranger, now dressed in a very expensive-looking black suit (black shirt, black tie, black gun…), said, "Good to know," and I startled again, my moment with Stephanie shattered.

_Geez, my nerves are shot already,_ I thought, hoping I still had an extra-large Maalox stuck in the trunk of my car.

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the end series tbc

thank you for reviewing


	38. Chapter 39 Happy St Paddy's Day

**A Random Life**

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AN- Maybe this needs an Eeeeeuw, ick! warning. Short, silly...

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_**39 . Happy St Patrick's Day**_

_**.**_

"You want me to turn WHAT green!?

I stared at the day spa aesthetician with equal parts fascination and horror.

Need I say MORE?

Yes? Okaaaaay. Remember that you asked for it.

My name is Stephanie Plum and I was at the spa for a bikini wax. The spa girl snapped her gum and said, "Yeah. It's our March Special. I'm doing a _**lot **_of these….."

_Oh, ick!_

"See, we have this little shamrock shaped - - uh, stencil-like, for the wax. And then we dye what's left green."

The girl smiled happily, she was so freakin' proud.

She said, "We got the idea after our Valentine hearts were so popular. And just everyone has been loving these - this way, when you take your guy home on St. Paddy's Day, he _knows_ he's gonna get lucky! …._Plum Lucky_!''

Eeeeeeeuw!

I grabbed my clothes and my purse and I ran like hell. It's bad enough being trapped in the love triangle in the numbered books! I'm not sure I'm gonna survive the holiday novellas.

Why me?

…..

Happy St. Paddy's Day, everyone! Enjoy that GREEN beer!

[sorry, I 've been rereading the earlier books,lol.]

series tbc


	39. Chapter 40 Forever Twenty one

** a**/n If you missed it, I put a very short R & A oneshot on my blog a week or so ago. Link is in my profile.

a/n 2 A little Lester/ Ranger bit here tonight, for you all, esp. **B**. _Keep the faith._

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**A Random Life**

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**.**

**_40 . Forever Twenty-One_**

_._

_Ranger_

**Tank is in Belize **with Lula; Brown is in, uh...nevermind. Offshore. Anthony is busy making more money. So I am planning to use my man Lester Santos as back-up for the upcoming out-of-town job.

A federal warrant, big bucks. No admirals, no aircraft carriers, no "SEALs"...just me and a partner picking up a bond evader. Easy peasy.

On a balmy afternoon in May, I run a low-key briefing. "Neville Euston-Snodsmith, FTA on a federal bond. The guy is an art thief, cat burglar, not violent"

Lester nods dreamily. _Hmmmm._

"The skip's in a little desert town maybe a five hour drive out of LA."

Santos's handsome face perks up. (Yes he looks like me, I try not to dwell.) He says, "You mean in Vegas, boss? I wouldn't mind a couple days in Vegas."

I stare at him, then back down at the file Stephanie has produced so efficiently with Vince's input. "No. Santa Altagracia, California," I read off the bio page. "Population: 324 people, 200 of whom are over the age of 75. 90% of the adults never finished eighth grade; median income hovering 'round the poverty zone. Meth sales and DWI are the most common crimes. Eighty three percent of the entire population live in mobile homes. Dry county. No liquor. No showgirls."

"But they have crystal meth," muses Lester.

"Go figure."

Lester face gets sad, then turns suspicious. "What's a guy who steals original Mucha posters, mint, never used, never shown, never framed...what's he doin' in Santa What'sit's-ville?"

"Seems the dry climate preserves the artwork he steals. Man runs an eBay auction shop out of the trailer park, hence the federal warrant. Lives and works in a double-wide. Jumped bail and ran home like a starving rat."

"So - -maybe we can stop off in Vegas on the way home?"

"No." Lester is pushing my buttons or he's up to no good again. The last time he was in Vegas that I am aware of, he spent three days and four nights with four showgirls, a case of Jack Daniels, some primo weed, and six assorted gallons of chocolate syrup and Canadian "real" maple syrup from Costco. He's lucky he avoided a diabetic coma, licking that off...um. Well.

I repeat myself to distract my imagination. Stephanie would freakin' love doing that..."No. No Vegas."

Les had been celebrating his safe return from our first deployment in Iraq. The tangos didn't kill but the party could. And he'd been ready to die happy, I guess.

Lester grinned at me. "It was the beginning of a new dawn, boss. A new era. We were..."

"Stupid? And twenty?"

"You were twenty-one, maybe. Twenty two?"

I nod. We were crazy kids. And so fucking good. "And poor Anthony was, what? - - seventeen...?" I mused. "Anyway, Tia Angelina was all upset about the _boys gone wild _scenario. You know how your mother is, cousin. Geez. I dropped Antonio back at college and flew in to pick your ass up off the floor, bring you home to mama. And found you passed out in a pool of-I am still hoping-maple syrup."

"Those were the days, my friend," he smirks.

"I thought you were dead." I give him my coldest glare.

Lester smiles happily. "Yeah, I get that a lot."

"Still? You're not twenty anymore, _primo_."

"In my heart I'll always be ...forever twenty-one."

"You've been hanging in the Galleria mall - -"*

"What? Who, me?"

"- - with that woman. Jane? No...uh...?"

"June. My little June-y Bug."

_Gag me with a spoon_, to quote Julie.

"I don't want to know." I told him. "Airport. 0500, tomorrow. We'll borrow Anthony's Lear."

"Ten-four, Ranger. Vegas here we come, boss!" And he wandered off, head in the clouds, mind in the gutter. Forever twenty-one.

Despite myself, I grinned.

* * *

_the end , series tbc_

*Forever Twenty-One is a shop at the malls here. Apropos of nothing, Lester just likes the phrase...

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thank you for reviewing


	40. Chapter 41 Classroom

a/n this takes place during the book where all the Cayennes explode, 15?

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**A Random Life**

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**41 . Back in the Classroom **

**. **

_Stephanie_

**The driving instructor droned on,** "Constant vigilance! Pay attention and the life you save may be your own." He went on to talk about defensive driving techniques, _expect the other guy to drive like a moron_ and so forth. He sounded exactly like Mr. Johnson in my 11th grade drivers ed class at Trenton High.

I tried not to tune out but I am NOT a bad driver! All those cars —_dying..._well, that isn't my fault, is it? And I hardly ever have a wreck. Or even a ticket.

Yet here I am in Quantico, Virginia, participating in an FBI training course in "technical driving." Whatever that is.

... ... ...

**A few weeks ago I was minding my own business**, eating my lunch in the break room at Rangeman. A shadow passed over the local Pennysaver newspaper where I was checking out the Help Wanted ads. I looked up to see Hal standing in front of me, looking, well, nervous. He was flanked by a contingent of the Rangeman guys including Vince and Brett and Binky, even Lester Santos who caught my eye and gave me a glimpse of his almost Ranger quality megawatt smile. All the men except Lester looked shifty.

"What's up, guys?" I asked. "Want to join me?" I gestured at the other tables and chairs in the sleekly modern lunch room.

"No! Uh, no thank you, Miss Plum," said Hal.

"Stephanie." I reminded him.

"Yessir Miss Plum."

Mental sigh of resignation. After all, last week I heard Ranger telling Vince it wasn't necessary to call him _sir_: "_Ranger_ is fine, Vince. Or _boss_ is okay...," Ranger's voice was calm and unscary. (but still.) Vince snapped out a respectful, _yessir, Ranger, sir! _and since I heard nothing more I am gonna guess Ranger let it go.

Now I tried a pleasant smile and said, again, "What's up, boys?"

Feet shuffled, elbows dug into ribs. Silence. Finally, "Just do it," from Lester.

"Okay, yes, um. So—here." Hal handed me a square blue Hallmark-y envelope on which was carefully written _Happy Birthday, Ms Plum!_

I looked up at them. "It's not my birthday, guys. My birthday is in October?''

"Yes, we know but, well, we wanted you to have this. We all felt bad about the car destruction betting pool. And a friend of mine—just open it!" Hal finished desperately.

.

Inside was a pretty card apparently signed by all the men. And a folded computer printout. I opened the paper and read:

**FBI TECHNICAL DRIVING SEMINAR**

**evasive and defensive driving **

**for professional law enforcement personnel**

**2 days at pro course in Quantico VA**

"We signed you up," said Hal. "A friend of mine from the Bureau is the instructor. He thought it would be proactive to have a female participant. Some of the guys here, from Rangeman, are going too—you won't be all alone down there."

"But..."

"Law enforcement people from all over the country attend this course, " Vince chimed in hopefully.

''Did Ranger put you up to this?'' I asked.

''No ma'am."

"Did you mention it to him? My going, I mean?"

"Yessir Ms Plum, he said, um, it was your call."

"Huh. Well, yeah. Okay. Thanks!"

... ... ...

**Now Hal's friend FBI Special Agent Skye Walker** finished his lecture. He told us, "Tomorrow you'll be on the driving course. Live action, people. Enjoy your dinner, study your notes from today, and get a good night's sleep. Breakfast at 0700, we hit the course by 9. Dismissed."

Lucky I work for Ranger sometimes or I'd be pissed off at being told _Dismissed_. How rude.

... ... ...

**Annoyance with the instructor** didn't keep me awake and the next day I was up on time; went through the buffet for my coffee and donuts nice and early. Back in my room I showered, and dressed in jeans, sneakers and one of Ranger's black t-shirts for courage. A new-ish one, not an old soft sleep-in-it one. And I knotted it up at the waist so I'd look cute. Underneath I wore a black lace bra and matching thong. Today I wanted to feel extra Wonder Woman, if only for my own self-image.

We were bussed to the driving range I mean _course!_ in shiny new black FBI Suburbans.

"Cool," said my day's partner, a cute young cop named Paul Tano. Shiny big SUVs are a dime a dozen in my world but I smiled at Tano, who had told me he was originally from Honolulu, now was a cop in Minneapolis. I shook his hand and refrained from questioning his sanity (He traded Hawaii for Minnesota? Was he nuts?) and asked him instead of he knew Lucas Davenport or Virgil Flowers, Minnesota CBI agents extraordinaire.

He grinned and said, ''Nope. But I get that a lot. Everyone talks about Davenport and his Porsche."

Our chitchat was interrupted by Agent Walker. He cleared his throat and said, "May I have everyone's attention! These are the vehicles you will be using today!" Hand waved at half a dozen FBI type sedans and SUVs. ''Right here is a brand new, just delivered, FBI Special Edition Ford Fusion sedan. Currently it is the vehicle of choice for agents since our SUVs use too much fuel. So—ladies first?" He handed me the keys. "Ms Plum. Ready to roll?"

Mostly I just wanted to roll my eyes but I took the keys and told my partner Tano, "Let's do it!"

Skye Walker told us, "You'll race through the obstacle course using the defensive and evasive tactics we discussed yesterday. Chase speed is usually in excess of 55 MPH so try to keep your speed up without loss of control. Okay?"

"Got it,'' I told him.

''Good luck."

Tano and I got in. Mmm—new car smell. I adjusted the seat and mirrors; we fastened our seat belts. I started the car, glanced down at the odometer. Yep— .06 miles on this baby. Brand new.

I gently revved the engine, gave Walker a thumbs up.

''Go go go!" yelled Walker, waving his arms madly.

We took off.

Now let me just point out _again_ that I am a very good driver. I have never had a wreck that was my fault! I rarely get a ticket and if I do, it's for no taillights or something. Not for speeding or unsafe lane changing or anything like that. Ranger regularly lends me his overpowering, megabucks Porsche[s]! So I was confident. This was gonna be fun!

We blasted down the range swerving around orange cones and pop-up boxes representing pedestrians, bales of straw, piles of old tires. It was a blast!

''Whooo-weee!'' I yelled, and threw a wide grin at a pale-faced Officer Tano. We rounded a corner and _bam!—_I slammed on the brakes for a power turn. The car fishtailed then did a one-eighty. Perfect!

We idled a moment, exchanged grins and high fives. "Awesome!" I crowed.

"Awesome," Tano agreed.

Then, _hmmm_. I sniffed the air. Tano lifted his head, looked around and sniffed too. Now that we'd stopped, there was suddenly a strong odor of gasoline in the air. It filled the car with its familiar scent.

"Uh oh," I mumbled

Tano said, "You've got that _'we're in trouble'_ look."

''Something must have burst!" I yelled.

"Or the fuel line connector clamp is missing!" screamed Tano.

We locked eyes then yelled in unison, "RUN!"

We ran. And just as we managed to roll behind some bales of rags masquerading as parked cars, oh excuse me, _vehicles,_ we heard and felt: _Phfffoooonf! _

Yes, yes. _Of course_ the FBI vehicle exploded. Of course it did, what did you expect? I buried my face in my hands and moaned.

"Ms Plum! Ms Plum! Tano! Are you okay?"

We stood up and faced Special Agent Walker. "Yeah," I said. The whole class had galloped to our rescue and stood now hands on hips watching the Ford burn.

"Should we get a fire extinguisher?" someone asked.

I said, "Don't bother, the fire trucks will be here soon."

"You're so calm," marveled Tano. "Does this always happen to you?"

"Everywhere I go. Every car I drive."

BOOM! The tires exploded.

''They all explode!?'' Agent Skye Walker asked.

''Well no. Some get dead bodies in them. And some get crushed by garbage trucks."

The fire trucks arrived. The fire captain walked over to us, shook Walker's hand. Then he looked at me. "Are you Joe Morelli's ex-girlfriend?"

''Um, yeah?"

"Ranger Manoso's woman?"

''Excuse me?"

"We heard all about you, ma'am."

_Geez._

"That poor bastard. I hope he owns the insurance company, because otherwise the premiums must be astronomical."

BOOM! Something else ignited.

''Well, you know. It's never my fault!''

_Boom, phoonfph_ again. Sizzle of fire retardant foam.

The fire captain grinned and held up his hands, ''Sure, sure." He walked away, laughing.

Everyone else was staring at me—Walker and Tano and all the cops and agents who paid big bucks to come to this course. I finally gave a little finger wave and told them again, "The freakin' car blew up! Get over it! Sue Ford, because I'm gonna tell you just one last time: It wasn't my fault!''

...and I got in Ranger's newest Cayenne and drove home.

the end, series to be continued

...

thank you for reviewing!


	41. Chapter 42 Fluff

**a/n **There is a new story on my blog tonight, for all you readers who keep asking me why Ranger doesn't mind that my OC Anthony is in love with Stephanie. So R explains. Or maybe not? link in my profile... 5-3-13

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a/n 2 Takes place sometime after Half Past Eleven but beofre? Snow Day. Joe is ooc here.

**A Random Life**

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**42 . Fluff **

**.**

_Stephanie_

**Ranger and I were having a late lunch** at Pino's. Morelli walked by our table, nodded at Ranger and kissed me on the cheek.

Ranger said, "Join us."

There was no longer any vibe of rivalry or anger between Joe and Ranger. Ranger got the girl, well, me - - and Joe and I were good friends now. No alley kisses or late night drives alone with Joe. When I committed to Ranger, even if only secretly in the most hidden corner of my heart, I had no desire to fool around on the side. Not even for old times' sake.

Joe sat down with us, ordering pizza and a Coke. _Some things never change_, I thought, as I watched Ranger eat a plain salad and Joe scarf down greasy pizza.

We were still eating when Ranger's cell phone vibrated on the table between us. He listened, said "Be there in 10," and stood up, his meal only partly eaten, not that it was enough to keep a rabbit alive anyway, let alone six feet of big, strong ex-military muscle.

Ranger said, "I gotta go."

He kissed me and left.

Joe and I watched him leave. I must not have been doing a good blank face because after the door shut behind Ranger's very sexy ass, Morelli reached across the table and held my hand lightly.

He said, "You're happy, Steph?''

''Yeah. I am, Joe.''

''He works a hell of a lot. I bet he walks out on more meals than he finishes," mused Joe.

''It just happens sometimes. And he does make the effort to meet for lunch and stuff, comes home for dinner lots of nights," I told him.

''Uh huh.'' Morelli looked dubious.

The silence dragged out a bit. I wasn't going to defend Ranger or my choosing him. I knew before Ranger and I ever even began this non-relationship that he worked 18 hour days. A young man like Ranger didn't become a millionaire before age thirty by sitting around watching TV. And it was how he was, I don't need to change him.

''It must be hard to be him, to be Ranger. You ever think about that?'' said Joe.

''What? What do you mean, Joe?''

''Well, look at him - - works his ass off, always the badass.''

''And?''

''And you know, it just seems like he never cuts himself a break, he's like so - - tightly wound. He never slacks off. I mean, he's always perfectly groomed, never needs a haircut or a shave. Even his cars are immaculate. He's never sick. He's never tired. The guy is fucking perfect, it must be exhausting to be him. Like I said, it can't be easy to be Ranger….''

I wanted to laugh but Joe seemed serious. I thought about it for a few moments. I have seen Ranger tired, exhausted even. I've seen him angry and upset and stressed. He shows me some, or I've gotten a lot better at reading him. And I admit I've never seen him so much as get a sniffle of a cold….

I said, "He's just a guy, Joe. He gets hurt - -Scrog shot him all those times. You saw it. He was in intensive care even.''

''Yeah and two days later he was back on the street, looking mean as ever.''

''Not two days.''

''Three?''

I smiled. I am happy that Ranger is resilient and strong.

Joe said, "And the worst part, the hardest part of being Ranger is how he looks!"

I frowned, confused. I said, "Ranger is a good looking guy."

(Actually, Ranger is beautiful. Very beautiful. A combination of great genetics and all that salad, I guess?)

''Cupcake, _I'm_ a good-looking guy. Ranger is something else again.''

''Huh?''

''Yeah, I saw the smile on your face as you watched him walk away. What does your friend Lula call him? Eye candy? Hey even I can see he s a handsome guy.''

''What's your point, Joe? I don't think he swings both ways.''

''No! But can you imagine what that's like? Here he is a badass mercenary and he's so beautiful, people look at him and smile. I m just sayin' - - hard to be scary when you look like Ranger.''

''He does a pretty good job of being scary.''

''Yeah, he's a force of nature," agreed Joe.

''And?''

''Nothing. Just …he suits you, you two are a great pair. I'm glad you're happy, Cupcake.''

''Yeah. Me too. Look, I gotta go. Ihave a couple skips I'm chasing, you know how it is, Morelli." I threw my napkin on the table and got up.

Joe said, ''I'll get the check.''

''Ranger runs a tab, Joe.''

''Of course he does.''

I said goodbye. And was glad to be gone.

the end, series tbc

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thank you for reviewing! Yes i know it was very weird and def out of character for morelli. I was in the mood to write a thoughtful friend version of our Det. Morelli.


	42. Chapter 43 Disguised

This is for Anna whose review of my new fic made me remember this story. Not Professor Plum, but instead we have Professor Ranger.

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**A Random Life**

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**.**

a/n-I apologize in advance for R & A being armed in a school. But then..the y are the good guys?

It always cracks me up in fanfic when authors (yeah I've done it too) have Ranger whispering sweet nothings in romantic, sexy Spanish— or worse have him shouting _Dios mios_, hilariously at certain climactic moments—when the "reality" is, he is as American as any of us [if indeed we're American, you guys know what I mean], maybe more so, lol! So...

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**_43 .Thinly Disguised As a..._**

**_._**

_Ranger_

**"**_B_**_uenos días, clase. Mi nombre_**_ es Senor Sanchez, yo es su profesor del subtitute para la semana."_ Good morning, class. My name is Mr. Sanchez, I am your substitute teacher for the week.

"_Hola,_" said my students without interest or inflection.

I pushed my dorky horn-rims up my nose and turned to the lesson plan. **Intro to Spanish**, grades 10-12.

As a mercenary, a gun for hire, a covert operative—professional badass, if you will—I've taken a lot of strange jobs but this one is the weirdest.

I was contacted a month ago by the DEA, asking me to infiltrate a high school where it was believed the students—some, all, a few?—were using the chem lab for making crystal meth after hours. Possibly under the pretext of extra cramming for AP Chemistry. Or perhaps in _aid_ of cramming for said exams, but anyway, speed kills and all that stuff, so the feds were concerned.

The DEA seriously wanted me to go undercover as a student, give me a break. I may be eternally age thirty but I can't pass myself off as a teenager anymore. If nothing else, the muscular build I have courtesy of Uncle Sam's Special Forces training would be a dead giveaway. Unless of course this was a prison school, where all the inmates, I mean students, pumped iron twelve hours a day.

However, this is not reform school, this is Montclair High, in Patterson, New Jersey. Ethnically diverse but upper middle class, the students were all white bread as can be, no matter what color they actually were.

So I offered the alternative plan to go in as a teacher. No, not chemistry—the only person I was pretty sure could still find his way out of a high school chem text was my brother Anthony and he had stared me down, said_, Get real._

Yeah, okay, he looks even less teacher-y than I normally do. So here I am, dressed in tan Dockers, a wrinkled blue oxford cloth shirt and a tweed sport coat. Ella found these clothes at a decent resale shop, though she did major nose wrinkling and tried to starch and iron the stupid shirt. Glasses, Timex watch, and short hair that needed a cut-and , voila, _Mr. Sanchez_ was born.

Then this morning I almost got into my new Porsche 911 Turbo to drive here. Tank stopped me at the Rangeman gate and I switched to Stephanie's current POS. Yes, she drives a piece of crap car, despite our being married for three years now. I think the cars make her feel secure. Or something. On the other hand, this morning in the garage she grabbed the Turbo keys and ran off laughing her ass off. Huh.

... ... ...

The kids worked in silence for awhile, til I got bored. How could they possibly learn a language doing written exercises, you need to speak a language—to use it— to learn it. I said, in Spanish, "Okay, people, put your pencils down and let's talk."

Thirty pairs of bored eyes gazed at me. I said, "Go around the room and tell me your names and ages and what you like to do for recreation. "

_Who knows, maybe the meth head is so tweaked he'll tell me everything._

"Yo, Mr. Sanchez!" A hand waved at me, A_sk me Ask me!_

_Kid better learn NOT to do that_, I thought. And sighed.

"_En español, por favor_." In Spanish, please.

We chatted for awhile. Either these kids lead dull lives or their Spanish isn't up to telling me the good stuff.

This went on for most of the week.

Finally, one ghastly afternoon, I tossed my chalk on the blackboard ledge-made a mental note to donate new white boards to this place with some of the DEA cash...and sat on the corner of the desk, folded my arms. I said in English, "Guys—um, ladies—we just can't sit here and do verbs, it sucks. Don't you want to be able to say something useful someday?"

Yawns.

"Yo! Mr. Sanchez!" I narrowed my eyes. "I mean _Chjo, Senor Sanchez_!"

"_Hola_. Say _Hola_, not Yo."

The kid waved a hand, shooing my useful instruction aside. "Whatever...I can say _'Dos cervezas frios, por favor._'" Two cold beers, please.

"Very useful, my man. But not very complex...What if you needed to say: _'Su programación destructiva está tomando efecto. Lo dibujarán irrestiblemente a las ciudades grandes, en donde él sostendrá alcantarillas, invertirá muestras de la calle, y robará cada uno zapato izquierdo.'"_

"Huh?" Thirty faces send the Huh-vibe to me.

I guess it's been a few years since they saw **_Lilo and Stitch_**...Zoë has taken a liking to it lately, but the only copy we have of the DVD is dubbed into Spanish for some long lost reason, maybe Ella got it from her grandkids? That was currently my favorite line. _(''His destructive programming is taking effect. He will be irresistibly drawn to large cities, where he will back up sewers, reverse street signs, and steal everyone's left shoe.'')_

I went on, "Or maybe... _Me agarré con las manos en la masa."_ Anyone want to confess?

Nada. I tried, "_En caliente ni se siente_." Get it over with...

Apropos of nothing much I ventured, "_Al quirofano y al matrimonio no hay que meterse sin anesthesia_." I think that goes for teaching too, god knows I could use a drink right now.

Blankness personified, the kids and I were at an impasse.

One of the boys in the back row spoke up. "Yo, Mr. Sanchez. Whyn't you tell us about yourself, we told you about us!"

"Okay...like what?"

"Was that you on the CNN story, that CIA op where you rescued some ambassador?"

_It was so NOT the CIA._

"And you were on the cover of _Newsweek!_"

"_People's Hottest Men_ issue," purred the little jailbait sweetie in the front row.

I stared at them but they all nodded. The girls giggled and looked at me—wrong. You know what I'm saying_, babeando por el pendejo_, like I'm eye candy, not a teacher.

''That was a few years ago," I mumbled.

"You on YouTube, dude. Awesome."

I was so busted. These kids weren't as brain-dead as they looked.

The hand waver: "Yo! Mr. Sanchez!"

" Sí?"

"Did you ever... kill anyone?"

_Not yet today, kid._

I said stuffily, "We're getting off-subject here."

"But diya?"

"You need to ask me in Spanish," I said wearily**. **_¿Quien lo mataste? _I urged them mentally...but no...

They all got out their dictionaries and tried to figure it out.

Saved by a knock on my open door. _Oh jeez, Anthony to the rescue after all_, I thought , wondering how he even got in here. He grinned and came over to stand by me, waving his probably false DEA creds at all of us, armed to the teeth, too—on school property!

He said, "Hey, my man! So, like, let me illuminate to you the precarious situation to which you have found yourself. I, Anthony Stewart, badass extraordinaire, am the one they call when things go wrong, and things have indeed gone wrong."

_What?_

"What?"

"While you were sitting on your ass—"( a couple of the girls...I _swear_ they wiped drool of their chins!)—"teaching these dudes_ La español_, the crack manu' crew blew up the boys' locker room over in the fieldhouse. Their destructive programming at work, so to speak."

"Anyone hurt?"

"Just your rep, dude."

"Shit!" I yelled.

The class chorused, "_En español, por favor, Senor Sanchez!"_

I mumbled, "_No estaba mi culpa," _

_"A otro perro con eso hueso,"_ laughed Anthony.

_"Ni con pistoles, hermano."_

_" _Um—I like think hear fire engines' sirens and shit, don't you? Shall we?_" _Anthony gestured to the door.

_"Sabahondo! Mierde! Shit!" _I hissed.

I tossed the dorky eyeglasses in the trash, unholstered my Glock and headed for the door, Anthony at my heels, his final words floating after me, "Party on, dudes, party on."

"_En español, senor!_" yelled my class.

Oh, just shoot me now...

**the end, series tbc**

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**Thank you for reviewing!**

''His destructive programming is taking effect. He will be irresistibly drawn to large cities, where he will back up sewers, reverse street signs, and steal everyone's left shoe.'' film quote

_babeando por... _crazy for, drooling over...

_Me agarré con las manos en la masa._ I got caught with my hand in the cookie jar [tortilla dough].

_En caliente ni se siente_. It's better to do it now. (Lit. In the heat of it you don't feel the pain)

_Al quirofano y al matrimonio no hay que meterse sin anesthesia_. Surgery and marriage-you don't want to do it without anesthesia.

_No estaba mi culpa-_ It wasn't my fault.

_A otro perro con eso hueso. _Throw that bone to some other dog...tell it someone who will believe you.

_Ni con pistoles. _No way/ not on your life_/ lit. not with pistols._

_Sabahondo! _Know it all. Jerk.


	43. Chapter 44- Tank's Revenge

**A Random Life**

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**.**

a/n: I wrote this for Christmas but it got lost in the apres H. Sandy shuffle...so I thought maybe it'd be fun for Memorial Day. No disrespect intended. Dedicated to the proud memory of my dad who was a veteran [and who would NOT be amused,lol]. And to all the men and women who defend/ have defended our country and our freedom.

A/N 2: This takes place early, when R and S are friends and recently lovers [in my world]...around Book 11?

* * *

**Tank's Revenge**

**_._**

**_._**

_Tank_

**"Hi, um, Tank. Got** a minute?"

Okay this is my office and she said my name so it must actually be me she wants to talk to. Stephanie Plum has been around for the past 2, 3 years, but familiarity with us has not seemed to lessen her anxiety when she has to actually speak to any of us. She's even still a little scared of the boss, which is absurd, the man's been in love with her since the day they met in that crummy cafe.

I must have been pondering too long because Stephanie's face was turning pale and her foot was jiggling.

I said, "Sure, Stephanie, what's up?" I think Ranger would prefer we call his little whitebread sweetie "Ms Plum" but she insisted we call her by her first name.

"Well, my grandma...you know my grandma, right?"

I nodded warily.

"My grandma has been volunteering at this thrift shop in the Burg. The charity they support is a shelter near Stark Street for abused women and children."

I nodded a little more.

"So they had a Christmas toy drive, so that all the children will get a present from Santa. And there will be warm coats and hats and gloves too...boots...even for the mothers as well as the kids. It's a really great thing these ladies are doing to help the women and children."

I said, "Sure. What do you want? Money? Check okay?" I rummaged in my desk for my checkbook.

"No! No, Ranger was very generous, he donated...well, you _could_, they really do need every penny. But no, here's the thing—we need a Santa Claus for the kids. You know, to go and give out the toys? A Santa?"

She looked so cute and hopeful.

I said, "And?"

"Well, I was thinking you'd make a wonderful Santa Claus."

I look like a chubby little white man with a red suit and a white beard to this woman? Huh? I said, "No! No way! Ask Ranger."

We stared at each other for a long moment and then we laughed. I said, "Poor kids would be frightened for life!"

Stephanie choked out, "Not to mention the moms—picturing Ranger sliding down the chimney, into their bedrooms!"

I grinned. "Hey, not chopped liver here, lady."

The ice was broken, I guess, because she fake-flirted, batted her eyelashes and purred, "No, not at all! But big and strong...and..."

I said, "I'm a mercenary doom-bringer! Not a jolly old elf. Ask one of the white boys, isn't Santa a white dude? Maybe—Hal?"

"No."

"Binky? Brett?"

"No! They are all great guys," she blushed again, "but they're blond and Nordic and whitebread-y, it would look like Santa joined the Aryan Brotherhood."

I gave a startled laugh. "Not good, huh?"

"This shelter is near Stark Street, Tank. The clientele is ethnically diverse. I want the children to have a Santa they can relate to. Please do it? You'd be so great. Pleeeze?"

_I like a woman who knows how to beg..._

"Oh, okay. Since you said please."

"Thank you!" I got my first ever hug from Stephanie Plum, even a fast kiss dropped on the top of my shaved head. _Maybe this gig will be worth it...?_

... ... ...

**Stephanie actually found a Santa suit** that fit would me. And the party thing went off okay. Almost broke my cold mercenary's heart to see those little guys' shining eyes and sweet smiles. I'm pretty sure that for some of them it was the first time Santa had ever remembered the child on Christmas. How sad is that?

So what if one of the babies barfed or another peed on me and that one little brat grabbed my gun? And okay, there were _incidents._ Mrs. Mazur led the feel-up brigade! But I sat firmly in Santa's rickety folding chair and defended my honor well.

We had cookies and cider and I helped the kids learn and sing some carols. What? I went to church when I was little, sang in the choir even. I wasn't always a badass, you now.

The afternoon wrapped up finally and Stephanie and I headed out to my truck.

On the road back to her apartment, Stephanie said again, for about the twelfth time, "Thank you, Tank! You were great! Amazing really."

"No problem. But you owe me," I said.

"Uh, sure. Anytime."

I pulled into the lot and parked beside Ranger's Porsche, guess the man was feeling left out. As Stephanie slid out the door of the pickup I leaned over and yelled, "Just remember, Steph, payback is a bitch."

... ...

_Stephanie_

**I woke up on Monday morning** in a very good mood. Partly due to the fact that Tank's performance as Santa had been such a huge success...and oh okay, mostly because Ranger was waiting for me when I got home. I sighed and smiled, running my hand over the now-cool sheets, inhaling the familiar scent of Bulgari and Ranger.

An hour later I walked into my Rangeman cubicle, hung my coat on the hook, tossed my purse on the desk, and there, lo and behold, I found a _very_ risqué Mrs. Santa Claus suit draped on my office chair.

I picked it up gingerly and shook it out. Red spandex velvet, neckline down to there, skirt up to there, maybe two inches past my ass. White feathery stuff—marabou? —trim all around. A jaunty little red velvet Santa hat and red patent leather thigh-high stiletto boots were on the chair under the dress.

_Obviously Treasure Pleasures Does Christmas_, I thought. Eeeeew.

I stomped down the hall and flung open Ranger's office door. I yelled, "What the fuck!?"

I brandished the tiny garment in his face. He leaned back and almost smiled, his eyes getting hot. But he shook his head a fraction and said, "No way, babe, not me. Although..."

I yelled, "Ooooh!" and stomped back out of the office, smacking headlong into Tank, who grabbed my arms to steady me. He said, "Like it?"

I stomped my foot again."What. The. Fuck!"

"Payback remember? You owe me."

"I so do _not_ owe you this, mister!"

" Yeah, you do, you owe me and you _will _wear it. We have a gig at the Veterans' Hospital on Wednesday. The guys there don't want to see Santa, they want to see some..."

"Tits? Ass!?"

"It's a good cause, Steph."

"Ask Lula!"

"Well, you know I love my Lula-honey, but she's a special taste. Not everyone's wet dream. Whereas, you, Ms Plum..."

Ranger had come to the office door and was listening. Stephanie turned to him, "But..?"

"Good cause, babe."

"Your backup guy just called me a wet dream!"

Ranger grabbed her wrist and pulled her really close. He brushed his mouth across hers and whispered, "And I know exactly what he means, babe."

Tank watched with interest and when Ranger stepped away from Stephanie he intervened and said, "So—we're good to go?''

"I guess."

... ...

_Tank_

**Stephanie left work early on Wednesday** to get ready for our outing to the Vets Hospital. I was supposed to pick her up at 2, we'd spend the afternoon with the guys.

Ranger had a few choice word for me in private and he declined to come along, saying that he'd probably end up shooting some poor injured asshole who ogled Steph. I laughed and said, "Next time. You can be Santa."

Boss glared. I shrugged. ''What, there's women vets there too, man."

"Thin ice, Tank."

"Good cause, boss."

...

The door of her crappy apartment was ajar when I arrived right on the dot of 2 PM. I pulled my weapon and went in. Nada. I called, "Hey!" and got a _hey_ in return, followed by, "I'll be ready in a second, have a seat."

Ten minutes passed.

Steph called from bathroom, "What you are about to see is top secret. Do NOT tell my mother!"

She walked into the living room and pirouetted in front of me .

_OMFG. Holy shit. This woman can sizzle, she is hot! Who knew?_

"Oh, man." I whipped out my cell phone, took a picture, emailed it to Ranger, carefully concealing an evil grin.

On Stephanie's tall, curvy body, the tiny scrap of red velvet came to amazing life. The deep V-neck showed soft, white cleavage, the tiny skirt with its hem of fluffy white feathers barely covered the essentials and made her legs look a mile long. And Steph was a real good sport, I noted with satisfaction—her face was made up to look sexy but not slutty and her hair was a gleaming mass of long shiny dark ringlets. She even wore tiny silver jingle bell earrings that swung against her cheeks and made a little cheery ring.

"You like?"

I cleared my throat. "Oh yeah. And the men are gonna love you."

... ...

**In Tank's truck, afterward, Stephanie** was quiet for awhile. She finally glanced over at Tank's stern face and said, "We're pretty good at this. Another success, right?"

"Yes. The men loved you, Steph, you really brightened their holidays."

She nodded a little and the earrings made their tiny jingle.

She said, "So many men and women, so young, so—it broke my heart, Tank."

"They don't want your pity."

"No, they have my respect and admiration and my thanks. But..."

"I know, Steph, I'm glad it's not me or the boss or one of our guys there too. But it could have been."

She pressed her lips together, refused to cry, but her big blue eyes gave her away.

Tank added, "You did great, I owe you."

They rode in silence again for a few miles. Steph forced a cheerful grin and said, "So Tank, how do you feel about being the Easter Bunny?"

" 'Bout the same as you'll feel about being a Playboy Bunny."

''I can do that!"

"Yeah?"

"Yeah...but," she surreptitiously rubbed her ass, "those guys may be injured but they copped a few good feels, ya know? I think I'll have a bruise or two."

"Now you know how we feel with your granny."

"Yeah, well, Tank, just remember: Payback is a bitch."

Tank just laughed and thought, _Boss gonna have fun later..._

"Merry Christmas, Steph."

"Merry Christmas, Tank."

the end, series tbc

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thank you for reviewing


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